Cherry
by Rebel-Aquarius
Summary: A game of truth or dare gone wrong reveals Ichigo's embarrassing secret: he's still a virgin - but not for long! Not when Rangiku and the others are determined to help him fix his "problem." No matter what. Urahara/Ichigo, yaoi. Pure, epic crack/fluff.
1. Chapter 1

It's funny: originally this was supposed to be just a random one-shot, focusing mostly on the game of truth or dare at the beginning. And then I bounced this idea off one of my other friends, who's more obsessed with Bleach than I am, and it kind of exploded into epic crack from there. My only defense is that when it's two in the morning and ridiculous amounts of caffeine/sugar have been consumed, I am…open to persuasion, lol. So, blame her for this monstrosity.

Dedicated to my dear friend Gloria, because I love you like hell, and because you fuel my unhealthy obsession. I hope this is exactly what you wanted. Happy (insanely belated) birthday.

Chapter One:

The only thing, Ichigo thinks, that's potentially more irritating than having the combined forces of Renji, Ikkaku, Yumichika, Hitsugaya and Rangiku invade his school and humiliate him on a regular basis in front of his other classmates, is their constant insistence on meddling in his personal life. Because frankly, as far as he's concerned, he doesn't give a damn if they're supposed to help protect Karakura and save the world from imminent doom together, they don't have any business in sticking their noses into his diet ("You're actually going to eat _that?" _Rangiku asks incredulously, gazing at his bento box with an expression of vague alarm), or the clothes he wears ("Who are you trying to impress?" Ikkaku remarks slyly, eyeing Ichigo up and down with a broad smirk), or even his grades ("98%?" Renji demands, glancing between Ichigo and his math test with a look of both shock and slight disgust. "What are you, a total nerd?")

And they _especially_ should not be nearly as fascinated as they are concerning the subject of his virginity.

Ichigo's only defense is that it's all Rukia's fault. As usual.

This new interest in his private life is sparked by one particular evening when Rukia drags him over to Orihime's apartment, where, as he soon learns, the two girls have taken it upon themselves to invite not only Ishida and Chad as well, but the rest of the shinigami currently posted in Karakura for a party. Rukia only smiles innocently when Ichigo shoots her a suspicious glare, and goes skipping off to strike up a conversation with Ishida.

To his surprise, the night isn't so bad. He actually has a pretty good time for the first few hours, listening with embarrassed appreciation as Rangiku cracks dirty jokes, and becoming temporarily engaged in a brief, vicious argument with Ikkaku and Renji about battle tactics.

After dinner, people lounge around. Hitsugaya is the only one who seems slightly put-out, and Ichigo has a lazy, sneaking suspicion that he's only here because Rangiku dragged him along against his will. But even Hitsugaya's disapproval can't put a damper on the warmth that seems to have encompassed Orihime's apartment. Rukia and Renji are laughing, leaning casually against each other; Orihime giggles while none other than Yumichika braids her hair, occasionally commenting on its beauty; Ishida lectures an intrigued Ikkaku—and Hitsugaya, in spite of himself, leans in to listen curiously—on the history of the Quincys; Rangiku keeps trying to challenge Chad to a drinking contest of some sort, although Chad adamantly continues to refuse.

Ichigo watches them together, his usual scowl dissolving to be replaced by a faint smile. He never would have thought that a group of such radically different people could fit together so…so _well_, and it sets something inside him at peace.

He could get used to this, he thinks.

But that's before it all comes crashing down around them.

After utterly failing to engage Chad in her game, Rangiku turns to survey the rest of the room, a pout on her lovely face.

"I'm bored," she interjects loudly, and Rukia and Renji who are closest to her glance up in surprise.

"Really? Then…what do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Rangiku fires back in exasperation. "A game or something."

Orihime, who has been admiring Yumichika's work in a compact mirror, looks up, her face brightening immediately.

"Oh!" she cries excitedly, and raises her hands, as if they're still in school. "Oh! I have an idea! It's a game Chizuru-chan taught me!"

Everyone else looks around with slight interest and Orihime squirms in anticipation before blurting out: "It's called 'Truth or Dare'! Have you heard of it?"

The responses vary; Hitsugaya's eyes flutter closed, as if he can't quite believe this is happening to him, and Renji says rather bluntly, "Inoue, who _hasn't_ heard of that game?"

But Rukia's eyes light up dangerously in that way that plainly says she's up to no good.

"That's brilliant, Orihime! Can we?" she asks, directing the question to the room at large.

Much to Ichigo's dismay, everyone seems willing. Rangiku in particular gives a rather evil cackle and rubs her hands together in a menacing sort of way. Ichigo doesn't actually want to play—he's never been one for games, especially not stupid ones like "Truth or Dare," but everyone else is already shifting into a vague approximation of a circle, and he doesn't want to disrupt the comfortable mood of the evening that's lasted so far. Grudgingly, he gets up from the couch he's sprawled across and takes a spot on the floor between Chad and Ikkaku.

"Since it was Orihime's idea," Rukia begins when they're settled, "I think she should go first." She grins expectantly at Orihime, who immediately sits up with an expression of great importance.

"Ishida-kun," she says, pointing an imperious finger at her intended victim, "truth or dare?"

Ishida, who looks rather startled at having been called on first, shifts awkwardly and glances at the rest of the circle, as if seeking their advice. However, since almost everyone is watching him with eager, wicked smiles, he lets out a sigh and returns his attention to Orihime once more.

"All right, um…truth."

Orihime considers her words carefully.

"Ishida-kun," she says slowly, thoughtfully, "you make a lot of dresses, right?" An abnormally mischievous grin spreads across her kind face. "Have you ever tried one on?"

Ishida doesn't need to answer: the brilliant red flush that stains his pale face is enough, and the room bursts into shrieks of disbelief and howls of laughter.

"Seriously?" Ichigo blurts out and Ishida shoots him a very nasty look. Rangiku wipes tears from the corners of her eyes and pats Orihime admiringly on the shoulder.

"That was genius!"

Across the circle, Yumichika adopts a thoughtful expression.

"But some dresses are quite beautiful," he remarks aloud. "I don't exactly blame him."

If anything, this makes the group laugh even harder, and when the last giggle has subsided, Yumichika and Ishida are looking downright murderous. It's Ishida's turn to go next, though, which appears to be some consolation for him, as his gaze sweeps the circle.

"Abarai," he says at length with great satisfaction, since Renji had laughed the loudest at Ishida's confession. Renji stiffens as he hears his name.

"Truth or dare?" Ishida asks him coolly, and Renji shrugs, adopting a cocky expression.

"Whatever—dare," he tosses out carelessly, and Ishida raises an eyebrow, thinking hard.

"Fine then…Abarai-san, I dare you…to…"

Rukia gives a sudden, high-pitched giggle and leans over to whisper something in Ishida's ear. Whether it's because of her unexpected betrayal, or the sinister gleam in Ishida's eyes when she pulls away, but Renji's confidence evaporates instantly and he looks nervous.

"I dare you to wear Inoue-san's school uniform for the rest of the night."

"WHAT?" Renji squawks indignantly, though he's barely audible over the roar of laughter from Ichigo and Ikkaku. Even Hitsugaya's indifferent expression wavers dangerously for a moment, in an attempt to hide a smile.

"You're not going to back down, are you?" Rukia challenges him, eyes sparkling. Renji splutters furiously, but at long last, is escorted by Orihime to her closet, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Maybe, Ichigo thinks, and sits up a little straighter, maybe this game isn't so bad after all.

The game becomes increasingly more insane as time wears on. When Renji returns, his face as red as his hair and shuffling along in one of Orihime's neat, gray pleated skirts, he immediately exacts his revenge on Ikkaku and Ichigo in one fell swoop by daring them to kiss for thirty seconds. Rangiku, Rukia, and Orihime are sent into hysterical squeals, as Ichigo groans in disgust and Ikkaku seethes, their lips mashed awkwardly together. The dares become more extravagant: Chad is forced to perform a salsa dance while singing a popular love song that he only knows half the words to. Yumichika scrambles up onto the roof, wearing nothing but his underwear and a lampshade on his head where he proclaims his beauty aloud to the neighbors, terrifying several old women who live next door in the process. It's even demanded that Rangiku flash the group, though this dare doesn't particularly seem to faze her (Ichigo, Ishida, and Chad immediately cover their eyes in embarrassment, although Ishida is later accused of peeking, and after the dare is over, Ikkaku has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, where he attempts to stem a sudden, violent nosebleed.)

There's no safety in picking truth either, since the questions are just as bad as the dares. Rukia admits, face going a steady shade of purple, that out of all the men in the room, she'd date Ishida, sleep with Ichigo, and marry Renji. Hitsugaya, surprisingly, grumbles out the story of his first kiss, which he apparently shared with Hinamori while they were growing up together in Rukongai. No one aside from Rangiku dares to laugh, though, when he describes how Hinamori pulled away too quickly and sent him stumbling face-first into a mud puddle.

Somewhere a clock strikes the hour and Ichigo represses a yawn. They've been here for six hours or so, he thinks, and he's starting to feel pretty tired. The rest of the circle has settled down, and they're mostly just asking questions of each other now, the thrill of the dares having fizzled the later the night wore on.

"—and that's how I realized I was straight," Yumichika concludes, and the circle nods sleepily. Orihime is starting to doze, her head lolling on Rangiku's shoulder.

"Cool," Renji says and rubs his eyes. "Hey, maybe…maybe we should call it a night?"

Nobody protests, but Rukia, Ichigo noticed, is gazing at him thoughtfully, her head tilted a little to one side. He shifts uneasily under her stare and frowns.

_What?_ he mouths at her, but she only gives him a tiny, impish smile that sends a thrill of foreboding through him and jerks him out of his stupor.

"I have a question," she says aloud, and there's a mutter of acknowledgment from the circle that encourages her to continue. "Ichigo," she begins, and Ichigo has a sudden urge to run at her and clamp his hands over her mouth. He doesn't know what's coming, but he's pretty sure it's nothing good.

"Ichigo," she says again, "are you still a virgin?"

The effect of her words is astounding. Renji sits bolt upright and looks around at Ichigo with an astounded expression. Orihime's head slips off Rangiku's shoulder as she stares at him with wide eyes. The rest of the circle waits, watching him with a level of interest that he doesn't think is at all appropriate.

"That's a stupid question," he snaps at her, even as a steady flush creeps up his neck, turning his ears a faint pink.

"Too bad," Ikkaku says loudly, "answer it."

"I don't have to!" Ichigo protests angrily, arms folding defensively across his chest. His face is burning and he viciously almost wishes that he'd left Rukia to rot in her tower, if this is how she's going to repay him.

"Holy shit," Renji says, voice trembling in disbelief. "You _are!"_

"I'm—I'm not the only one!" Ichigo yells, suddenly feeling incredibly childish. He shoots a glare at Orihime, Chad, and Ishida. "You guys are too! Aren't…aren't you?" he adds uncertainly, when none of them quite meet his eyes.

"About that," Ishida says stiffly, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose even as he goes maroon. Chad doesn't speak, staring at the floor as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen in his entire life.

Ichigo turns on Orihime, half-hoping she'll help him out, but his jaw drops when he sees the guilty, yet slightly pleased expression on her face.

"You're shitting me," Ichigo says, stunned. "With who?"

Rangiku hurls a pillow at his head.

"That's rude," she informs him primly, and Ichigo gapes at her.

"What? You—you—it's rude asking me too!" he cries, outraged.

Rangiku cackles and raises an eyebrow.

"But with you, it's funny! And…interesting," she adds. The rest of the circle seems to be thinking around the same lines as her. Ikkaku and Renji, having recovered from their shock, now dissolve into fits of uncontrollable laughter, while the others survey him with surprised amusement.

Ichigo gives them all a sweeping glare, upper lip curling in a snarl as his gaze lands on Rukia for a second, before getting stiffly to his feet.

"Fuck this," he snaps and storms for the door. "I'm outta here."

It doesn't end there, however.

He should have known.

* * *

"Jeez," Rangiku says, shaking her head the next morning as she, Ikkaku, and Yumichika stroll down the street, having ditched school to go drinking ("It's not even eight-thirty yet!" Hitsugaya had snapped when Rangiku extended an invitation to him as well), "you'd think Berry-tan would have done it with somebody already. Boy like him, you know…"

Ikkaku tries and fails to hold back a snicker.

"I can't believe he's still a virgin. He's what, eighteen?"

"Fifteen," Yumichika corrects. "And I thought he and Orihime-chan were dating?"

Ikkaku laughs even harder, if possible.

"Yeah right—Renji says he's terrified of women."

"Terrified of _rejection_," Rangiku corrects him, "that's what Renji means."

"Oh?" Ikkaku retorts, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"A women's intuition," Rangiku says airily, and as neither Ikkaku nor Yumichika have access to such mystical knowledge, they have no choice but to accept her theory.

They drop the subject until an hour or so later, when they've arrived at the bar, and have downed several plates of food and several more glasses of sake.

"It really is funny," Rangiku drawls as she takes another swig of her drink. "You'd think a kid like that…" She stares into space, struggling to recall the rest of what she was going to say.

"Who?" Ikkaku prompts, and pokes her idly in the side.

"Kurosaki," Rangiku continues, satisfied to find that she remembers again. "You know…?"

"Yeah…"

"He's not…hideous," Yumichika slurs at length, and coming from him, this is perhaps one of the highest compliments he's ever actually uttered aloud. Ikkaku and Rangiku look around at him, mildly impressed, but Yumichika's already slumped over, snoring, having significantly less practice in the art of drinking than either of them.

"Huh," Rangiku says, and then narrows her eyes contemplatively. "I think…I think we should help him."

"Yumichika?" Ikkaku asks, and bangs his hand on the bar for another drink, which the bartender offers him with a slightly distasteful expression.

"No!" Rangiku sighs heavily in exasperation and then sighs again because she's having difficulty seeing straight. "No. I mean Kurosaki-kun."

"We _are_ helping him," Ikkaku grumbles, "coming over from Soul Society and shit."

"No!" Rangiku interrupts again and waves his comment aside dismissively. "I mean…I mean…" She frowns and thinks hard. "Oh, right. I mean, him being a virgin and everything."

"Oh," Ikkaku says, and then, with new enthusiasm, "Oh!"

"Yeah," Rangiku confirms, pleased that she's finally made her point. Beside her, Ikkaku nods fervently, eyes gleaming with manic inspiration.

"You're right! It's just plain wrong!"

"Not normal," Rangiku chimes in helpfully.

"Very odd," Yumichika agrees sleepily under his breath and then lets out another loud snore.

"It's settled!" Rangiku cries, and lifts her glass in a mock toast. "Death to Kurosaki-kun's virginity by week's end!"

"Here, here!" Ikkaku shouts, and downs his sake in one large gulp, before jumping to his feet. He sways for a moment, and then returns to his seat, propping his elbows up on the surface of the bar.

"Starting tomorrow," he adds, and Rangiku nods drunkenly, and they both order yet another beer.

* * *

There are three problems that Ichigo has with it being revealed he's still a virgin. Just three problems, really, but they're enough to make his head pound and his jaw clench as he storms along the narrow pathways of Karakura's park, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt against a sudden chill that swept in from last night.

The first and foremost, is that it's nobody's goddamn business but his. Ichigo has always been an intensely private sort of person. He doesn't mess with other people's issues (well…you know, besides Soul Society and all that) and he thinks that his best frigging friends, of all people, should give him that same amount of space. "With you, it's funny! And…interesting." Is that what Rangiku said? Ichigo kicks savagely at the ground, sending up a spray of gravel. What the hell does she mean, _funny?_ He thinks it's pretty serious. It's his…his _virginity_, for crying out loud, and even though it might sound stupid, he thinks…he thinks it's something that should be special. Why does it matter, if he wants to wait awhile longer? What's wrong with that?

The second problem, he concludes, is that he's been betrayed: brutally, horrifically betrayed, by none other than Rukia—and in front of Renji, Ishida, _and_ Ikkaku, as if it weren't humiliating enough. Admittedly, she seemed pretty upset. He'd walked downstairs this morning to find a plate of enormous, bunny-shaped pancakes waiting for him, with the words, "I'M SORRY" spelled across them in syrup, and Rukia hovering anxiously nearby, waiting for his reaction.

That was actually why he'd taken a walk. He'd ignored her hopeful expression and grabbed a piece of toast instead, before immediately heading out.

Ichigo shifts uncomfortably. It had felt good at the time, but thinking about it now, he feels like a complete asshole. Not that his anger isn't justified, but…but she'd looked so disappointed, just before he'd slammed the door shut.

Maybe, Ichigo concludes, as he slumps down on a park bench for a moment's rest, maybe he should try talking to her this afternoon. After all, it's Rukia. He's never liked staying angry with her for too long.

But that brings him to his third and final problem: the most uncomfortable out of all of them, and Ichigo lets out a small sigh and tilts his head back, watching clouds drift lazily overhead. Because Rukia's question has thrown into sharp relief something that he's been steadily (if uncomfortably) realizing over the past several years. Namely, that he doesn't…like…girls.

It's actually…it's actually kind of a terrible feeling, and Ichigo feels his stomach clench as he continues glaring up into the sky. He wanted to be normal, just _once_ in his goddamn life. He'd tried hard in middle school; tried so hard to think about the way Tatsuki's legs were getting longer, and Orihime's curves, instead of...of guys.

A light breeze tousles his hair, and Ichigo can't help but snort in self-disgust.

He didn't try hard enough, apparently. Otherwise, he wouldn't be in the situation he is now, alone and ugly, and stuck with a secret, _stupid_ crush on—

A tingling of familiar reiatsu reaches him, and Ichigo flushes and ducks his head at approaching footsteps.

Speak of the devil.

"Kurosaki-san?" Ichigo glances up, carefully arranging his expression into one of rude indifference as none other than Urahara Kisuke comes to a stop beside his bench, one eyebrow raised slightly in concern. He's not wearing his typical green samue and hat, but jeans and a t-shirt instead. His hair is even messier than usual and it looks soft in the early morning sunlight.

For a moment, Ichigo loses his train of thought.

"Kurosaki-san?" Urahara prompts gently, and Ichigo jumps a little, blushing at the faint hint of a smile playing on Urahara's lips.

"The hell do you want?" he grits out, a little harsher than he means to in his stumbling recovery. Urahara only chuckles, unfazed, and sits down on the bench beside him.

Their shoulders are nearly touching.

"I was just out taking a walk, and I sensed dark reiatsu streaming through Karakura." Urahara offers a slight grin. "Not in a good mood today, I take it?"

"None of your business," Ichigo grumbles, as his face goes a further shade of pink, arms folding across his chest. Mentally, he smacks himself upside the head. _What the hell are you doing?_ his inner voice screams. _Stop acting like a total asshole! Flirt, laugh, make him stay—just do __**something!**_

He opens his mouth, ready to blurt out the first thing that jumps to mind (which, in retrospect, might not have been the best plan ever), but Urahara beats him to it with, "The weather's getting colder."

"Um…" Ichigo glares at his feet. "Yeah, I guess."

_Oh God,_ his inner voice is moaning in terror, _this is so awkward, what are you __**doing?**_

"Has school been going well? Abarai-san's been complaining nonstop about the homework load."

Ichigo stifles a snort of laughter at that, missing, in the process, the way Urahara's gaze softens slightly.

"That's cuz he's a slacker," Ichigo explains at length. "If he stopped bitching and moaning all the time and actually did his work instead, he might not be failing everything. Not that it matters, because, you know, he's not really here for good grades…obviously…"

_Stop rambling,_ his inner voice hisses and Ichigo ducks his head in frustrated embarrassment. Why did Urahara have to show up _now_, anyway? Why couldn't he have just stayed in his shop, being all aloof and mysterious and hopelessly sexy, and save them both from this awful, ten minute, nightmare of a conversation, _why?_

Just…get up, Ichigo tells himself firmly. He just has to get up, while being polite, excuse himself, and then bolt for the sanctuary of his bedroom. Go. Now. Please.

"Kurosaki-san," Urahara asks, beating him to the punch again just as Ichigo opens his mouth with some weak story about how he has to help Yuzu go shopping for beets or something. They both hesitate, and then Ichigo laughs nervously and glances away.

"Go ahead," he mutters.

"I was just wondering," Urahara went on cheerfully, "since it _is_ so cold, if you'd like to come back with me to the Shoten for a cup of tea. You're shivering, you know."

Ichigo wants to melt, and fist-pump the air, and go fleeing in the opposite direction all at once. Be cool, he tries to instruct himself, and shrugs one shoulder in an attempt at appearing casual; it comes off more as a nervous twitch, and causes Urahara to raise one eyebrow in uncertainty. Ichigo's face is probably on fire at this point.

"Uh, sure," he finally manages to stutter out. "Yeah, cool. Whatever."

_Nice going, dumbass,_ he thinks dully, and plods after Urahara down the path; though when Urahara lightly touches his shoulder, and then leaves his hand there just a little longer than necessary, Ichigo has to admit that maybe he did something right after all.

* * *

"CAAAPPTAAAIN!" Rangiku caterwauls as she stumbles up the stairs of Orihime's apartment building, a bottle of beer swinging from one hand and Yumichika and Ikkaku in tow, their arms wrapped around each other as they sway dangerously from side to side. Ikkaku's belting out some obscene drinking song that he must have picked up from one of his "sparring matches" with Iba, and the neighbors (not to mention half the people on the sidewalk below) are gaping openly at him.

None of them care, and Rangiku kicks open the door of Orihime's apartment, beaming expectantly.

"Captain! I've got it! I—"

The front room is empty, and she pouts unhappily.

"He ain't here," Ikkaku observes.

"Well-spotted," Rangiku mutters grouchily under her breath. Damn. And she'd so been looking forward to sharing the brilliance of her latest plan with her captain. Damn, damnity-damn, damn and a half…

Yumichika finally disentangles himself from Ikkaku and staggers forward a few steps, eyes narrowed hazily.

"Maybe…maybe there was a Hollow."

"We would have known," Rangiku corrects him. She wanders over into the kitchen, bottle still dangling in her grip, and checks the refrigerator, in case Hitsugaya's hiding in there. After all, she figures, it's cold, it's small, perfect right?

"He could have gone back to Soul Society," Ikkaku suggests.

"Maybe…"

"Cuz Captain Yamamoto might have—"

It clicks together in Rangiku's otherwise addled brain and she whirls back toward the other two in excitement.

"I know where he is!" she exclaims, and then immediately goes barreling for the side room with the screen connecting them to Soul Society, and where Hitsugaya has spent most of his time on Earth lurking. She kicks down the door again (Orihime's probably going to be pissed, part of her warns vaguely) and storms inside, a broad grin splitting her features as Hitsugaya turns around, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Matsumoto," he begins in confusion. "What are you—?"

"WE'VE DONE IT, CAPTAIN!" she informs him loudly, and envelops him in a crushing hug, his face smashed against her breasts as she spins him around several times before releasing him. "We've come up with a devious plan to help rid Kurosaki-kun of his virginity ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

She cackles triumphantly, and then gazes expectantly at him, waiting for…well, a congratulations or something. But Hitsugaya just stands there, with a funny, pained sort of expression that she doesn't quite understand.

"Matsumoto," he says at length.

"Yes, captain?" she replies immediately, puffing herself up a little. Here it comes!

"Why…_why_ do you do this to me?"

Not exactly what she thought he'd say.

"Whaddya mean?" she demands. Hitsugaya, whose face is going a rapid shade of humiliated purple, only jerks his head slightly. She glances up, only to realize that the screen behind him is on at the moment, and that not only Yamamoto is standing at the other end, but Unohana, Kyouraku and Ukitake as well, all four blinking in a rather bewildered sort of way.

Rangiku cocks her eyebrow at them.

"Hi, there," she offers politely enough. This is apparently too much for Hitsugaya to bear, and he wastes no time in immediately shoving her out of the room once again and slamming the now-broken door as best as he can.

A plaintive wail starts up on the other side, Rangiku whining about him being cruel, or something, and beyond that, he can faintly hear Ikkaku and Yumichika arguing at the top of their lungs about God knows what.

There's a brief, horrible silence behind him, and Hitsugaya has a sense of impending doom, before:

"So," Kyouraku begins rather conversationally. "Is he really a virgin?"

* * *

Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Rangiku's plans are initially set back, mostly because they emerge from semi-comatose states to splitting hangovers the following day after they make their "pact." Hitsugaya is, of course, completely unsympathetic after being humiliated in front of four other captains, and spends a decent hour ranting at them: Yumichika falls asleep, Ikkaku passes out, and Rangiku starts weeping halfway through, begging Hitsugaya to please, _please_ be merciful and not talk quite so loud.

He's deaf to her pleas, and sends them out to fight a group of Hollows later that morning, resulting in a near mental breakdown on Ikkaku's part and another wave of sobbing from Rangiku.

"Little twerp," Ikkaku snarls to himself over and over again, although Yumichika has enough sense to smother him once they get back to the apartment, in case Hitsugaya overhears.

By mid-afternoon, and several mugs of herbal tea later, though ("You're an _angel_, Orihime-chan," Yumichika proclaims with genuine tears of gratitude in his eyes, and Orihime blushes at the praise), they're starting to function normally again. Luckily, Hitsugaya is called into another conference with the captains in the other room—Ikkaku is almost tempted to belt out another rude song in an act of revenge, but Rangiku and Yumichika convince him otherwise—and this gives them a good opportunity to sit down and map out their plan of attack.

"Do we know if he likes anyone?" Rangiku asks straight out. "That's maybe the most important thing to consider."

Yumichika and Ikkaku glance blankly at each other, then at Rangiku.

This is going to be harder than they thought.

Half an hour of brainstorming later, they're still at a loss, and Rangiku is starting to feel her headache from earlier creeping up on her again when Orihime walks in, bearing another tray of tea and various sweets. Ikkaku and Yumichika immediately start stuffing their mouths, and Orihime, with a giggle, turns to Rangiku expectantly.

"I see you're feeling better," she notes cheerfully, and Rangiku gives a weak grin.

"Yes…but we're a little stuck."

Orihime cocks her head to one side, frowning.

"Stuck?"

"Stuck," Rangiku says again, and runs a hand wearily through her hair. "See…you know how a few days ago, when everyone found out Kurosaki-kun was still a virgin?"

"That wasn't very nice of Kuchiki-san," Orihime murmurs unhappily, flushing a dark, embarrassed red.

"Yes, whatever," Rangiku agrees, flapping one hand impatiently. "But it got us thinking. We want to…help him, if you know what I mean."

Orihime's eyes widen and, if possible, she goes an even deeper red.

"I don't…" she begins uncertainly. "I don't know if Kurosaki-kun…_wants_ you to—"

Abruptly, something clicks together in Rangiku's head, and she sits up with sudden glee.

"That's it, Orihime!" she shouts triumphantly. "I've got it!"

"Got what?" Orihime asks, almost warily, as Rangiku seizes her by the shoulders and shakes her a little. Across the table, Ikkaku and Yumichika glance up in surprise.

"Kurosaki!" Rangiku hollers, momentarily forgetting about Hitsugaya in the next room over. "Don't you see? Kurosaki-kun doesn't want us to, because—because—" And really, this is so brilliant, she can't believe she didn't realize it sooner "—_he_ _thinks nobody wants him!_"

There is a brief, confused silence.

"That doesn't even make any sense," Ikkaku points out at length, and Rangiku rolls her eyes in immense exasperation.

"Of course it does! He _wants_ to lose his virginity, because really, what teenage boy doesn't? But, and here's the thing, he thinks nobody would want him back. Oh!" Rangiku cries mournfully, "Poor, poor Kurosaki-kun, feeling so alone and unattractive!" She pauses dramatically as Orihime wipes a few tears from the corners of her eyes, and Yumichika and Ikkaku manage to look somewhat sympathetic.

"So," Orihime asks, eyes shining with compassion, "how can we help Kurosaki-kun understand?"

"Well it's simple!" Rangiku informs her gently. "We just announce to everyone that Kurosaki's a virgin. That should get _someone's_ attention."

"That doesn't seem entirely right to me," Yumichika begins, but Orihime has jumped to her feet, hands planted determinedly on her hips, and Rangiku has the wonderful feeling that she's found another recruit to help with what she has tentatively decided to call her DKV Project (Destroy Kurosaki's Virginity.)

Come tomorrow, she thinks, extremely pleased with herself, and Ichigo will be thanking her from the bottom of his heart.

* * *

"I'm not mad at you," Ichigo informs Rukia when he jogs downstairs the next day for school and finds her waiting, knuckles white from where she's clutching at her book bag.

"Really?" she asks hopefully, and when he nods, her face lights up.

So maybe he's still a little annoyed, not to mention nervous about having to face the others today after last Friday. But tea with Urahara on Saturday hadn't been a complete disaster. He'd actually stayed for an hour and a half (an hour and a half! he crows mentally, and then smacks himself for being such a loser), and they'd just talked—about anything, everything. It'd been…amazing, and Ichigo had been feeling slightly more charitable toward Rukia when he'd returned home. Unfortunately, she'd been gone for the rest of the weekend, called back briefly to Soul Society for some issue or another with Byakuya, and he hadn't gotten a chance to make up with her.

Ichigo takes in her delighted expression and decides that it was well worth the wait.

"I thought you'd never talk to me again," Rukia admits later with a sheepish grin as they walk to school together. "It was incredibly stupid of me. I was just trying to make people laugh, and…" She cringes apologetically. "I'm very sorry."

"No, it's okay," Ichigo assures her. "Really. It's not a big deal. I mean…" He chuckles weakly. "They've probably forgotten about it for the most part. I mean, aside from Renji and Ikkaku, but…you know, whatever. I can deal with it."

"I'll beat Renji up for you," she promises, and Ichigo can't help but grin.

"I'd love to see that."

"Consider it a present," she offers, and they both laugh as they trudge through the front gate of the school.

* * *

They attack at 10:32, halfway through the history period, the first day of the DKV Project, although Orihime spends a fair amount of the time fretting about ditching class.

"And I don't know," she adds for the third time in fifteen minutes, as she, Rangiku, Ikkaku, and Yumichika lurk about in the hallway outside, waiting for the perfect moment to burst in and break the news. "I don't think Kurosaki-kun would want this—"

"Orihime," Rangiku explains soothingly. "This is the only way. He'll never be able to do it himself. We're just trying to help, remember?"

"Y-yes," Orihime replies, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

Their teacher has been droning on now for a good twenty minutes about the Tokugawa period when Rangiku decides it's time to make their move. She signals to Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Orihime, who gather in around her.

"Now when I count to three," she instructs, "we all burst in at the same time and announce it to everyone."

"Right," Ikkaku and Yumichika agree, nodding. Orihime still looks doubtful.

"One—"

"—and it was at this point that the emperor decided," the teacher goes on, "that it had become absolutely necessary to—"

"Two—"

"Wait a minute," Yumichika says suddenly, "what is it exactly that we're all saying?"

"Three!" Rangiku cries aloud, and flings the door open, the four of them tumbling forward. Everyone is staring blankly at them. The teacher's mouth is still hanging open from being interrupted in the middle of a sentence; from his desk, Ichigo glances up in bewilderment.

"We would like to inform you that Kurosaki Ichigo is still a virgin," Rangiku announces, at the same time that Yumichika says, "Kurosaki-kun, being not entirely hideous, is in desperate need of assistance with his virginity," and Ikkaku bellows, "Oi, Ichigo! We're here to help you get laid!"

There is a brief, stunned silence; then Orihime, her face a brilliant red, squeaks out (rather redundantly, Ichigo thinks weakly as he sinks down in his seat, face burning) "Kurosaki-kun has not had sex," and then immediately dissolves into frantic apologies.

The room erupts.

"You're a virgin?" Keigo splutters, over the roar of laughter from the other guys and the squeals of shock from the girls.

"What the hell are you trying to pull with Orihime?" Tatsuki snaps protectively, jumping to her feet.

"Matsumoto!" the teacher barks, slamming her fist down on her desk. "What is the meaning of this, barging into my classroom—?"

"You're a virgin?" Keigo repeats blankly.

"They're all lying!" Rukia shouts out determinedly, though she only succeeds in prompting more giggles. Renji, at his desk, is convulsing in a fit of hysterical laughter; Chad is blinking at Ichigo's increasingly purple face in concern, and Ishida looks torn between laughing along with the rest of the class, and snarling for all of them to shut the hell up so that they can get on with the lesson.

"—screaming out all sorts of nonsense about Kurosaki's virginity, as if it's a matter of national importance," the teacher continues to rant.

"It _is_ a matter of importance!" Rangiku maintains stubbornly.

"Not normal!" Ikkaku adds.

"V-very strange," Orihime murmurs, prompted by a rough jab from Yumichika's elbow; this in turn prompts Tatsuki to hurl her textbook in Yumichika's face.

"You're a _virgin?_" Keigo is now shrieking repeatedly at the top of his lungs, for the rest of the classes in the building, and any random passerby on the street who didn't hear it the first two times. Other classroom doors are slamming open, one by one, and now there's even faint laughter coming from the halls.

In the midst of it all, Ichigo, his face now a shade to rival an eggplant, decides it would be a very, very good idea to leave school right about now, and proceeds to dive-bomb out the nearest window. His feet hit the ground with a dull thud and he goes flying across the school grounds, but not far enough that he doesn't hear Rangiku hollering after him, "Wait, Kurosaki-kun! We're only trying to save you from embarrassment!"

I'm going to kill her, Ichigo thinks furiously, I'm going to kill her, I'm going to fucking kill her.

**To Be Continued…**

So…hopefully this was funny, and you're at least somewhat interested in reading more. I dunno. Sometimes I wonder if my sense of humor's a bit skewed. Tried my best, lol.

Reviews are greatly appreciated—especially because I'm unusually self-conscious about this fic. Probably because I've never attempted crack/fluff before. :)

Later,

Rebel


	2. Chapter 2

Lupe Fiasco just released his newest album "Lasers" on the 8th. This week (which I could otherwise describe as hell on toast) just got infinitely better, lol. Also, your reviews were hilarious and amazing, and helped me cling to the shred of sanity I still have left.

Chapter Two:

He initially thought home would be a safe place to hide out, but that hope is crushed about a minute after he arrives—frigging _shun-po,_ Ichigo thinks furiously, racing up the stairs two at a time.

"Whatever you do," Ichigo snarls in warning to his bemused father over the loud pounding of fists against their front door, "_don't_ answer that."

Naturally, his father answers it.

Ichigo then spends the following ten minutes being chased all over his goddamn house, Rangiku at his heels and whining at the top of her lungs, "WE'RE ONLY TRYING TO _HELP_, KUROSAKI-KUN!" and his father in hot pursuit, sobbing joyfully about how "preciously innocent, my innocently precious son is!" Not to mention the arrival of Ikkaku and Yumichika (nose bleeding heavily from its encounter with Tatsuki's history book) about halfway through, a fairly windswept Orihime pinned between them, and Renji, who apparently decided to tag along as well and who, it seems, hasn't yet recovered from his laughing fit.

This day, Ichigo decides, as he dodges another flying tackle from Rangiku, cannot possibly get any worse.

He is, of course, dead wrong. He just doesn't know it yet.

However, thanks to a well-placed fist in his father's face during an attempt to smother Ichigo in a bizarre cross between a round-house kick and a bear hug, Ichigo finally has an opening to bolt—which he immediately seizes, tearing out of his house and down the street. He's even more thankful when he realizes that, for the moment, they're not following. Ichigo doesn't stop running, though, not until he's gasping for air and sweat's broken out across his forehead.

Not until he skids to a stop outside the Urahara Shoten. Jinta and Ururu race past in the front yard, Ururu squealing as Jinta swats her mercilessly with his broom, and Ichigo hesitates, biting at his lower lip.

At this rate, he needs to get out of Karakura for awhile until this all blows over, without worrying about Rangiku and the others being able to follow and continue to harass him. The only means of escape he's got available to him is a gate into Soul Society, and that wouldn't be a problem if it didn't require going through Urahara first. Going through Urahara means an explanation will be required, no doubt about it; and _fuck_ if Ichigo wants to do that, because honestly, despite Rangiku's "mission", he would rather take on all ten of the Espada with his bare hands, waltz naked through Seireitei, _and_ spend an entire week locked in the same room as his father before admitting that he's a virgin to his crush.

A faint edge of Rangiku's reiatsu tugs malevolently at his consciousness, reminding him that she's on the move and that he doesn't really have a choice in the matter.

Ichigo sighs grimly and trudges forward, cheeks already tinged an embarrassed red. Yoruichi's on the front porch in cat-form, coiled up in a patch of sunlight; her black fur is warm and dusty, but she lifts her head as he approaches.

"Ichigo," she observes in her gravelly voice, and he grins awkwardly, nodding to her.

"Hey. I was just…um…is Urahara here?"

A shadow of a mischievous expression crosses her feline features, and Ichigo raises an eyebrow, but a moment later she gets to her feet and stretches lazily.

"Follow me," she instructs him briskly and trots into the Shoten, Ichigo at her heels. They find Urahara and Tessai brooding over several containers of expired candy behind one of the Shoten's many shelves, and Ichigo fights down a nervous smile when Urahara glances up.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san!" he exclaims in surprise, and then, catching sight of Ichigo's troubled expression, frowns. "Is something the matter?"

"Um…" Ichigo mumbles uncomfortably, acutely aware of Yoruichi hovering closely nearby, and of Tessai, looming silently over them. He gives a slight cough, and Urahara seems to take the hint, as he turns abruptly towards the other two, fan aflutter.

"Tessai-san, would you mind preparing some tea? Yoruichi-san, if you could excuse us for a moment… I think Kurosaki-san and I have some business to discuss."

Yoruichi's eyes narrow, her tail twitching in irritation; Tessai only politely murmurs, "Certainly, Owner," and bows low, before heading for the kitchen—probably has learned by this point to just not bother asking questions. Urahara winks slyly from beneath the brim of his hat (Ichigo feels himself melt, just a little) and ushers him briskly into one of the many side rooms, sliding the door shut behind them.

"Now," Urahara says brightly, when they've settled around the small, round table, and fixes Ichigo with an expectant look. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Ichigo takes a slow breath and opens his mouth; closes it again after another moment, and bites nervously at his lower lip. He's trying to figure out how, exactly, he ought to phrase this without utterly humiliating himself. It's not an easy task.

Across the table, Urahara tilts his head curiously to one side, a slight, patient smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Did you forget?" he teases, and Ichigo gives a laugh that's strangled with anxiety, half-wondering if it's too late to go sprinting from the Shoten like a total loser.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, "no. I, uh…I'm just…" He stares at his lap for a moment, fiddling nervously with the hem of his t-shirt, and a brief, awkward silence lapses between them. He's well-aware of Urahara watching him closely, and his skin prickles a little at the thought.

"…Was there something you wanted to tell me?" Urahara presses, perhaps a little too innocently, but Ichigo barely notices, the tips of his ears beginning to burn.

Yes, he thinks quietly. Yes, there is, actually. And it has nothing to do with Rangiku's fanatical crusade, and…and everything to do with the deep gray color of Urahara's eyes; the way his voice switches so easily between hard steel, and a gentle, lilting drawl; the small smile that does what no enemy's sword, or harsh words, or wicked schemes can ever hope to accomplish in a million years—render Ichigo completely and utterly helpless.

A pause, and Urahara leans forward, elbows braced against the tabletop.

"Kurosaki-san?" he prompts quietly, and Ichigo glances hesitantly up. Their eyes meet, and he's pinned.

"I—I just…" he stammers, and is it only his imagination, or is there an eager, almost desperate glint in Urahara's gaze? "I wanted…"

In that precise moment, the door is flung open with a bang—Ichigo twitches violently—and Yoruichi enters, human again, and wearing shorts and a tight tank-top that barely covers her midriff.

"So sorry," she exclaims airily, and plops down on one of the dark green pillows placed neatly around the table. "Couldn't find a bra."

She says this, of course, for the express purpose of watching Ichigo squirm; much to her surprise, however, the kid's already a brilliant red, staring intently at the dirt under his fingernails as if it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Yoruichi lifts one eyebrow; she glances questioningly at Urahara, only to find him glowering at her with a mix of immense aggravation and disappointment.

"What?" she says simply, hands raised defensively. "You said excuse you for a _moment_. I did that!"

Urahara shakes his head; shoots her a final glare that promises swift and violent retribution later on, and then clears his throat and smoothes his expression back into one of careful indifference.

"What were you going to say, Kurosaki-san?" he asks, and Ichigo shrugs, struggling to get his thoughts back in order, remembering just how little time he actually has.

"I, well…I need help," he admits, and then runs a hand nervously through his hair (missing, in the process, the way Urahara's fingers twitch with yearning, and the dawning realization—and subsequent smirk—that flitters across Yoruichi's face.) "It's, uh…it's kind of hard to explain, I guess."

"Ah," Urahara chides, snapping his fan open. "Come now, it can't be all that—"

Rangiku's reiatsu collides again suddenly, violently against his own, and the words burst free before Ichigo can stop himself.

"Everyone's-obsessed-with-the-fact-that-I'm-still-a virgin-ever-since-Rukia-not-so-accidentally-let-it-slip-and-so-now-Rangiku's-probably-going-to-try-and-get-people-to-sleep-with-me-and-I-don't-want-them-to-so-I-was-thinking-about-escaping-to-Seireitei-for-a-bit-can-you-help?" he explains in a rush of breath.

Urahara and Yoruichi blink.

Stare, first at him, then at each other.

And then immediately collapse into fits of hysterical laughter.

There's a vein pulsing in his forehead, but Ichigo grits his teeth, struggling to remain patient. He'd been hoping (however unrealistically) for a slightly more sympathetic reaction, but luck, apparently, has decided to just screw him over for today. He waits instead, fingers drumming irritably against the tabletop, and tells himself over and over again (as Yoruichi keels over, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Urahara slams a hand over his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle his laughter) that losing his temper and punching both of them is something he'll only regret later on.

It's not a particularly convincing argument.

Three minutes later, however, when they still haven't let up, Ichigo thinks it may be about time to say something.

"Are you finished yet?" he snaps, as Tessai, peering around the corner with his tea-tray, hesitates and glances warily between Ichigo's fierce scowl and Yoruichi as she lets out a series of disturbingly loud snorts. By this point, though, Urahara has managed to regain some semblance of composure, and he clears his throat several times, eyes twinkling in amusement.

"I'm—I'm very sorry, Kurosaki-san," he says with an almost-straight face. "I didn't—that is—" Urahara struggles furiously with himself (doesn't help at all that Yoruichi is now currently beating the floor with her fist and gasping for air, while Tessai continues to eye her with increasing alarm) and somehow succeeds in suppressing another wave of laughter. "You said you wanted to go to Soul Society?"

"As soon as possible," Ichigo grumbles, and Urahara, getting to his feet and stepping over Yoruichi's convulsing form, gestures for him to follow.

"I _am_ sorry," Urahara says again a few minutes later, as they stroll quickly across his enormous basement, faux-sun beating down on the backs of their necks.

"Doesn't matter," Ichigo grumbles under his breath, "you aren't the first one who's laughed."

A flash of what could be guilt crosses Urahara's face, and Ichigo feels his resolve waver a little—only a little, though, because he's getting pretty fed up with the way _everyone_ he knows seems to find this whole situation hilarious—so he only folds his arms defensively across his chest. Waits and watches in disgruntled silence when they reach the correct area, and Urahara begins to bustle about, preparing to summon forth the Senkaimon. The earth rumbles beneath their feet, sending up clouds of sand and dust everywhere (Ichigo wrinkles his nose and holds his breath) and the gate slowly appears, dark and ominous as ever.

"Take it as an apology," Urahara remarks, as the ground gives a final tremor and then falls still. He gestures towards the Gate with one hand, as he sweeps flyaway hair out of his eyes with the other, and grins. "Since I am truly sorry, Kurosaki-san."

Much to his utter infuriation, Ichigo can feel his earlier anger fading with the urge to return Urahara's earnest smile, and he stubbornly rearranges his expression into one of rude apathy—because really, dammit, when did he get _this_ pathetic?

"Whatever," he growls dismissively, and then scowls at the deep chuckle he receives in response.

"Guess I'm not forgiven after all," Urahara jokes, and his tone is casual, but that doesn't keep Ichigo's stomach from swooping in apprehension, when Urahara steps a little closer.

"You're a hard man to impress, Kurosaki-san," he continues easily enough. Ichigo shrugs tensely and already he can feel his throat constricting, can feel the ability to think straight slipping through his fingers.

"There must be some way that I can make it up to you."

He's standing less than a foot away now, but Ichigo can barely make out Urahara's words over the shrill ringing in his ears. Stop it, he thinks furiously, stop it, I've got to get a grip, I've got to _get a grip_...

A callused thumb brushes, unexpected and warm, across his cheekbone, and Ichigo's breath catches in his throat. Something hot, almost molten, unfurls in the pit of his stomach, and it's an effort just to lift his eyes, to meet that steady, kind gaze that always sends his head spinning.

"Why—?" he begins unsteadily, and that _can't_ be his voice, it doesn't sound anything like him.

"Eyelash," Urahara explains softly, and wait a minute, _waitaminute_, why are they so close…?

"Oh," he replies stupidly, because he has no idea what else to say. There's a deep, dark blush crawling up his neck, and he hates the fact that his brain has completely shut down on him, that his mouth has gone abruptly dry.

"Weren't you going to Soul Society?" Urahara prompts, and Ichigo nods wordlessly. He can barely speak, and his heart, already pounding violently in his ears, skips several beats when a hand slides over his hip.

Oh shit.

"Wh-what are—?" he stammers idiotically, and Urahara's lips curl in the tiniest of knowing smiles, as he pulls his hand back to dangle something in front of Ichigo's face.

His shinigami badge.

Right.

Ichigo's is blushing furiously by now, but they're standing close… So close, that Ichigo can feel Urahara's own uneven breath, fluttering in short, hot bursts across his cheek. _So_ close that maybe, if Ichigo steps the rest of the way in, and tilts his head to the side…

The same thought seems to have occurred to Urahara, and they both hesitate, before, little by little, Urahara begins to lean forward. Oh God, Ichigo thinks faintly, thrilled and terrified and astonished all at once. His head is spinning so fast, and he's shaking so bad, he's afraid that his knees are going to give out before their lips can even touch. Oh God, oh God, _oh God_—

"OWNER!" Tessai bellows down the basement hatch, and the two of them jerk apart, Ichigo stumbling over his own feet. Urahara, looking considerably flushed as well, clears his throat once, twice, and then makes his way over to the ladder to stare up the hatch.

"Y-yes, Tessai-san?" he calls back, and Ichigo doesn't miss the way his voice faltered.

"Owner, we have visitors," Tessai informs him. "They're looking for Kurosaki-dono…should I let them in?"

"Crap!" Ichigo hisses, and wastes no time in slamming his badge against his chest, soul bursting free and body reeling backwards to hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Not quite yet, Tessai," Urahara shouts back, and then quirks an eyebrow at Ichigo, who's paused, hovering at the threshold of the Gate.

"You might want to hurry, Kurosaki-san," he says, and Ichigo wants to cringe at that stiff, polite tone, but instead only jerks his head in the direction of his unconscious body.

"Uh," he begins, and then hesitates, embarrassed. "You wouldn't, um…mind watching that for me. Just in case, you know, Rangiku tries to…"

He doesn't finish the sentence—and he doesn't have to, as Urahara gives a brisk nod, and then gestures for him to _go_ already. That's all the permission that Ichigo needs, and he flees through the Gate, a slight blush lingering in his cheeks.

Urahara waits until the doors clang shut, and then sighs and strolls over to Ichigo's body, hands on his hips. Stares miserably at mussed orange hair and tan, muscled arms, wondering how the hell, for being the supposed genius that he is, he wound up in such a complicated situation as this. Urahara kneels down beside Ichigo's unconscious body, and before he can stop himself, reaches out to run his fingers gently through tangled hair. Unconscious, Ichigo's typical frown has faded, his expression now uncharacteristically gentle.

Vulnerable.

Young. Too young.

Just a boy, Urahara thinks wearily, and forces himself to pull his hand from Ichigo's hair. He should know better than this, than to fall for a stubborn, and foul-mouthed, and…and fascinating, beautiful, fifteen year old brat.

Urahara holds back a groan of rueful exasperation and quickly slings Ichigo's unconscious body up and over his shoulder, trudging back toward the ladder.

"Shit," he mutters to himself, "I'm in over my head…"

* * *

Ichigo manages, somehow, to crash-land within the walls of Seireitei this time: a good thing because he doesn't have to battle any demented gatekeepers or get launched via giant cannon again, but also bad because he finds himself facedown and spluttering in a puddle of mud outside the eighth squad's barracks.

"Ow," he mutters blearily under his breath and struggles to his knees, slime and muck dripping down the front of his shihakusho as several shinigami nearby giggle and stare.

Not quite the smooth landing he'd been hoping for, that's for sure.

The sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears and Ichigo cringes and braces himself for a squad of guards to surround him, or maybe Yamamoto himself, wrinkled old face twisted in disapproval and a harsh lecture about irresponsibility already rehearsed and prepared.

Instead, however, there's the edge of a flowery pink kimono swirling before his eyes and a hand extended towards him. Ichigo raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to meet Kyouraku's typical, cheery expression.

"Looks as though you could use some help, eh, Ichigo-kun?" he remarks good-naturedly, as he helps him to his feet. Ichigo grimaces, and shrugs, trying to ignore the way a few shinigami—mostly women, he notes irritably—continue to hang about, snickering and muttering amongst themselves; one or two of them even flutter their eyelashes and grin invitingly at him, despite the fact that he's covered in blotches of mud.

"So much for rigorous training and discipline," Kyouraku observes wryly, and Ichigo snorts and nods in silent agreement, swiping at his dirty face with his sleeves. "Speaking of which," he continues, and if Ichigo wasn't so preoccupied with trying to simultaneously clean himself off and avoid further embarrassment, he might have picked up on the note of false curiosity in Kyouraku's voice, or the spark of mischief in his eyes. "Since you're here, I've been meaning to ask: how are Hitsugaya-kun and the others holding up in Karakura? Captain Yamamoto's been curious lately."

Ichigo twitches.

"Oh," he begins awkwardly, "uh… they're fine…?"

Kyouraku chuckles kindly and thumps him on the shoulder.

"That bad, eh?"

"No," Ichigo says quickly, albeit feebly, and Kyouraku raises a skeptical eyebrow. "I mean…it…it could be better," Ichigo finally relents, and Kyouraku nods and laughs again.

"I had a feeling they might give you a hard time. They're quite a crowd, those little rascals!"

"Little rascals" are not quite the words that Ichigo was thinking of—something much more around the lines of "sadistic bastards"—but before he can say this out loud, an arm slings itself firmly around his shoulders, effectively pinning him to Kyouraku's side.

"Now, now, Ichigo-kun," Kyouraku assures him, and begins to steer him away from the barracks. "Why don't we go sit and have a drink or something? You can tell me _all_ about why you're here."

* * *

"Ken-chan!"

Despite it being nearly noon, Kenpachi's still asleep when Yachiru comes hurtling through the window of his bedroom at break-neck speed, giggling and singing at the top of her lungs, and begins bouncing up and down on top of his sleeping form.

"Ken-chan!" she cries out in sing-song, hopping from foot to foot. "Ken-chan, wake up! Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Kenpachi merely swears under his breath, gives a tired grunt, and tugs the blankets up even higher. Despite whatever protocol Yamamoto expects him to follow as a captain, after a night of heavy drinking, Kenpachi has absolutely no intention of getting up while the sun is out. His head is pounding so hard, it feels as though it might split down the middle, and Yachiru—currently twirling pirouettes on top of it—is doing absolutely nothing to help ease the pain he's in at the moment.

"Ken-chan, you're so silly! Wake up, wake up! We're gonna play!"

"Piss off," he grumbles, swinging one fist in a hapless attempt to knock her across the room. Yachiru dodges easily and heaves a mournful sigh, as she starts prodding his forehead (buried beneath the covers) with one small finger. At least she's stopped jumping.

"You're no fun, Ken-chan. Don't you wanna play with me?"

"Later," he snarls into his pillow. He should know better than to challenge Unohana to a drinking contest…he's yet to win against her once…

"But it'll be fun. Let's play hide and seek. Do you wanna do that?"

Quite frankly, he feels like impaling someone on his sword and hanging them out his bedroom window, so that he might watch as they slowly bleed out—and if it were anybody but Yachiru, he'd have one hand already on his sheath. Instead he hums tunelessly under his breath, and then yawns widely. The air outside is pleasantly warm, promising it to be a good day. When Kenpachi's ready to get up, he might even revisit the 80th District, go looking for a few fights, drink some more. Things have been depressingly boring in the 11th squad since Ikkaku and Yumichika left on duty for the material world.

"Ken-chan?"

"Later," he says again, more sternly this time. Yachiru squirms unhappily.

"But," she says brightly at length, and Kenpachi could scream, he really could. Except he won't. Not at Yachiru. Won't do it—coming close, but he won't. So instead he waits as patiently as he can, fingers drumming on his mattress, the blankets rising and falling as he breathes in and out through his mouth.

Yachiru waits, squirming a little more; keeping him in suspense, the little brat, and with a groan of defeat, he finally sits up, eyes bleary and slightly crossed as he glowers at her.

"What?" he demands gruffly. She only beams up at him in response.

"If we ask Ichi to play too, will you get up?"

Kenpachi blinks a few times, as the words sink sluggishly into his brain—before it clicks together, and he feels a fiendish delight creep over him.

"Ichigo's here?" he repeats carefully, and Yachiru nods. Kenpachi double-checks, to make absolutely sure: just as she says, there's a flood of reiatsu streaming through Seireitei, so strong and powerful, and achingly familiar that Kenpachi honestly can't believe he didn't notice it sooner.

"Now do you wanna play?" Yachiru asks, almost slyly, and then giggles and claps approvingly as Kenpachi launches himself out of bed, headache be damned. He's dressed and ready in less than two minutes and then he's at the windowsill, pausing only so that Yachiru can take her usual spot on his shoulder, before he drops down into the grounds below.

"Which way is he?" Kenpachi demands eagerly, fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword. Yachiru thinks for a moment, and then points authoritatively to the right, and Kenpachi takes off in that direction.

* * *

"So they've been chasing you all over town, harassing you?" Kyouraku concludes, tutting sympathetically. Ichigo laughs wearily and nods, slumping on his stool. Kyouraku's brought him to a small bar near the eighth squad barracks; it's nearly empty at this hour, aside from one unconscious member of the eleventh squad who's slumped and unconscious at a table in the corner. The whole place smells like stale body odor and booze, and Ichigo wrinkles his nose as he drums his fingers idly against the bar counter.

"Basically," he says. "And the worst part is that everyone else thinks it's so damn funny. Nobody's telling them to leave me alone, or help me get away, or…"

"Well, but…someone got you here, though, didn't they?" Kyouraku points out astutely, and then notes with interest Ichigo's faint blush in response. "Somebody in particular?" he adds, with only an edge of teasing in his voice.

Ichigo scowls.

"Doesn't matter," he grumbles firmly. Kyouraku smiles to himself but doesn't press the issue, as he raises a hand to get the barkeep's attention.

"Can I get a few drinks over here, please?"

About fifteen minutes later, Ichigo's startled to realize he's already polished off a second glass, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning slightly.

"What'd you say this stuff was?"

"Sake," Kyouraku replies, and then grins widely when Ichigo looks uncertain. "Now, now, Ichigo-kun. It's just alcohol, nothing too bad, I promise."  
"…Don't normally drink," Ichigo admits after another moment of hesitation, trailing one finger around the rim of the glass and glowering darkly at the remaining liquid pooled at the bottom. "Been a shit day, though, and I guess this stuff doesn't taste as bad as I thought."

"Your tastes mature as you do," Kyouraku says brightly, and slides a new, full glass down the bar towards Ichigo, who stares suspiciously at it.

"Doesn't taste _that_ good, though," he remarks dryly, and pushes it aside. "M' fine, I've had enough."

"There's no need to be polite," Kyouraku insists, and pushes the glass back towards him again. "Really, Ichigo-kun, I'm buying. I don't mind."

"It's not the money," Ichigo starts to say, but Kyouraku waves aside his words.

"Nonsense! Don't insult me, Ichigo-kun! Keep drinking!"

* * *

Lightweight, Kyouraku thinks fondly, as he trudges through the streets, hefting Ichigo's unconscious body a little higher on his shoulder. Only took about four or five glasses to knock him out—a good thing too, Kyouraku adds mentally as he turns a corner, making his way back toward the eighth squad's headquarters, because he's practically broke.

He certainly hopes Ichigo appreciates the sacrifice he's making to help the kid out.

Kyouraku's about halfway through the maze of the thirteenth squad's headquarters, whistling lightly and listening with interest as Ichigo mutters dreamily about dragons or something, when there's a light cough, and a voice calling out curiously to him.

"Shunsui?"

Kyouraku turns, grinning broadly; Ukitake's seated in the front garden of his captain's quarters, on a bench overlooking a small koi pond. A blanket's been pulled tightly around his shoulders (no doubt by order of Kiyone and Kotsubaki) even though the weather's been consistently mild and Ukitake hasn't had any relapses as of late.

"Afternoon, Jushiro!" Kyouraku cries cheerily. Ukitake returns his wave, though rather bemusedly, as he gets to his feet and makes his way to the front gate of the garden.

"Hello, Shunsui," he says again, when he's a bit closer, and his frown has deepened. "What are you doing out here? And who…who is that you're…? Wait…is that _Ichigo-kun?"_

"No worries, no worries, Jushiro," Kyouraku answers brightly, oblivious to Ukitake's dismayed expression, and pats Ichigo's unconscious body affectionately. "It's all part of my plan! Poor boy's a bit of lightweight. A couple drinks and he's gone! I don't envy his hangover…"

It takes Ukitake a minute or two of generally astonished spluttering before he can remember how to form fully coherent sentences.

"Shunsui," he begins, speaking as slowly and as meaningfully as possible, since it seems that Kyouraku has finally, completely lost his senses. "Shunsui, you got a fifteen year old drunk. What do you _mean_, 'no worries'? And—and _what_ plan?"

"To help him lose his virginity," Kyouraku says simply, as if the answer is obvious. "He's saved Soul Society multiple times. I thought I'd repay the favor."

By this time, Ukitake really _cannot_ speak, much as he wants to; the sound that escapes him is caught somewhere between a burst of hysterical laughter and scream of horror, and is followed by a bout of harsh coughing that summons Kiyone and Kotsubaki immediately to his side.

"There, there, captain," Kiyone says soothingly, with a polite nod to Kyouraku, as she tugs Ukitake back toward his quarters. "I've got you—"

"_I've_ got you," Kotsubaki cuts in, shoving her out of the way. "Let's get you back to bed to rest, before you exhaust yourself."

"No," Ukitake grits out between hacking coughs, trying (uselessly) to free himself from their combined clutches. "You—you don't—don't understand—"

"No need to be noble, captain," Kiyone says with a gentle smile, simultaneously kicking Kotsubaki in the shins as hard as she possibly can, and swoops in to take his place as she folds her arms around Ukitake. "You don't always have to be the strong one, we understand."

"It's not—" Ukitake gasps indignantly, but they've already ushered him to the front door of his quarters, Kotsubaki hobbling all the while and hissing curses at Kiyone under his breath. Even though he's short of air, it takes the two of them a few good, hard yanks to finally dislodge Ukitake from where he's clinging by his fingernails to the doorframe.

"I'll see you later, Jushiro!" Kyouraku calls, mistaking Ukitake's helpless struggles as a (rather violent) wave goodbye. He waits until his friend is sealed away in his quarters again, and then continues his hike back to his headquarters.

* * *

"We went the wrong way," Kenpachi says flatly, staring down yet another dead-end, one eye twitching in irritation. Yachiru only thrashes excitedly on his shoulders, giggling and batting at the bells in his hair like a tiny, mad kitten.

"Ken-chan's not very good at hide and seek, I guess!"

"_You_ told me to go this way," he replies as evenly as he possibly can, and then shakes his head to free one of his spikes from where her hands are fisted around it.

"No, I didn't," she insists, now tugging gently at his ear. Kenpachi gives a long-suffering sigh and turns on his heel, reaching out to catch a trace of Ichigo's now faint reiatsu as he races down another corridor of Seireitei.

* * *

Kyouraku reaches his barracks at roughly about the same moment that Ichigo begins to wake up again, semi-conscious and fairly bewildered to find himself hanging upside down and being bounced around on Kyouraku's shoulder—both of which do nothing to help his splitting headache, or the strong urge he has to vomit.

"What…?" Ichigo croaks, his mouth dry aside from the sour aftertaste of alcohol. "The hell's going on, Kyouraku? What did you _do_ to me?"

He receives only a casual, almost patronizing chuckle in response.

"Never fear, Ichigo-kun. Just trying to help you loosen up. Should make it easier to resolve your little…shall we say, problem?"

Ichigo had, up until that moment, been staring weakly at the ground, desperately willing himself not to puke, no matter what. Kyouraku's words, however, rip him from his thoughts and he hesitates as a trace of horror stirs within his chest. This seems…uncomfortably familiar.

"What 'problem'?" he forces himself to ask, dreading the answer. Kyouraku gives another carefree laugh and shakes him a little—Ichigo slams his eyes shut and braces himself in anticipation for the words he knows are coming next; that, and silently willing his gag reflex not to begin spasming at the sudden, jerking movement.

"Your virginity, obviously."

In all honesty, Ichigo isn't sure what to be more terrified of: the fact that, somehow, even _Kyouraku_ knows, or the idea that Kyouraku might be expecting to take care of said "problem" himself. The idea makes Ichigo even more nauseous, if possible. Before he has the opportunity to start kicking and screaming in protest, though, the sound of a door sliding open reaches his ears, a split second before he's dumped unceremoniously onto the cool, wood-paneled floor of one of the barracks.

When Ichigo's seeing straight again, he realizes that Kyouraku's standing over him, smiling serenely.

"You take good care of him," he says, to the room at large. "Do your best to help him."

"Yes, sir," a chorus of voices reply cheerfully. Female voices, Ichigo realizes, as a numb fear begins to spread through him.

"Go get 'em," Kyouraku hisses, and winks mischievously at Ichigo, before sliding the door shut again. It takes a good minute or so before Ichigo can will himself to get unsteadily to his feet (a combination of nerves and being fairly drunk) and take a deep breath. He's fought various captains and vice-captains of the Gotei 13; battled deranged, bloodthirsty Arrancar; he trained with Urahara, for crying out loud, and crush or no crush, that's still been one of the more brutal moments in his life that he's managed to survive.

He can handle whatever Kyouraku's thrown at him.

Right?

Ichigo takes another breath and slowly turns.

The room before him is painted bright pink, and filled with various futons, across which several (Ichigo counts at least ten, with dawning horror) women are sprawled. Most of them are half-dressed, the fronts of their kimonos pulled open to expose their cleavage, and the fabric pulled up to mid-thigh, showing off long legs. They're all incredibly beautiful, which Ichigo would be more than happy to admit if one: he weren't petrified; two: if he hadn't just been dumped in the middle of what he can only assume is Kyouraku's own private harem; and three: if they weren't all eyeing him eagerly, the way a pack of lions might as they surround their prey.

Ichigo takes a wary step back towards the door, and then another. He thinks about pleading, but it seems his throat has swollen shut.

The apparent "leader" gets to her feet, a tall, thin brunette whose outfit is practically see-through (Ichigo glances uneasily between her and the floor, not wanting to stare, and yet unwilling to take his gaze off her, in the case she might lunge in a surprise attack); her lips quirk in a half-smile, her eyebrows raised.

"You're pretty cute," she remarks, and crooks a finger teasingly at him. "Shall we?"

If Ichigo gets out of this alive, he's going to tear Kyouraku to pieces, right after he's finished with Rangiku.

* * *

Kenpachi skids to an abrupt halt, surprised by a sudden spike in Ichigo's reiatsu; he's close, Kenpachi realizes with a burst of excitement—as does Yachiru, who wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes, giggling.

"I can feel Ichi nearby!" she sings, and Kenpachi nods, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he turns another corner; with every step, Ichigo's reiatsu gets stronger and stronger, and Kenpachi finds himself licking his lips in anticipation. He hasn't had a good fight in ages, and he can feel his sword screaming with the need to taste blood.

"Hey, there, Captain Zaraki."

Kenpachi glances about bemusedly, and finds Kyouraku sprawled on across the steps outside one of his barracks, sipping from a half-empty bottle of sake. He didn't even realize he was near the eighth squad headquarters.

"Good morning, Captain Kyouraku!" Yachiru chirps. Kenpachi gives a grunt of acknowledgement, to which Kyouraku grins and raises his bottle in mock-cheers.

"What brings ya out here?" he slurs politely.

"Business," Kenpachi replies shortly, too focused on trying to identify which direction Ichigo's reiatsu is streaming from. He's close—so close, Kenpachi swears he can practically _smell_ him, he just can't figure out _where_…

"Business? With me?" Kyouraku asks in mild alarm. His free hand flops out lazily, reaching for his sword—not realizing in his semi-intoxicated state that he left his sword lying under his bed earlier that morning. Kenpachi rolls his eyes, ready to continue trudging onward and abandon the conversation, but Yachiru, dangling from his neck, chooses at that moment to cry out: "We're playing hide and seek with Ichigo!"

"Oh…_really?"_

Kenpachi has never been one for subtlety (either in attempting or recognizing it), but the way Kyouraku tries and fails to hide a sly grin at the mention of Ichigo's name is enough to give even Kenpachi pause.

"Yes," Yachiru continues, oblivious to Kyouraku's rather (now that Kenpachi really thinks about it) evil smile. "He's 'it.' He doesn't know yet, but he is. Have you seen him?"

"Around," Kyouraku admits, and chuckles to himself, as if at some private joke. "Here and there, maybe…" Kenpachi isn't really listening, however—not anymore. He's preoccupied with the way Ichigo's reiatsu is now pulsing in frantic waves, almost enough to overwhelm Kenpachi himself. Kyouraku seems to sense this too, because he turns his smirk on Kenpachi and waggles his eyebrows in a lewd sort of way.

"Must be having fun, wherever he is."

Kyouraku's whole demeanor leaves Kenpachi feeling distinctly unsettled. He's about to turn away and continue conducting his search somewhere else (somewhere far, far away from the eighth squad headquarters, preferably), when there's a loud thud from within the barracks that Kyouraku's sitting in front of.

"The hell was that?" Kenpachi demands. Kyouraku's mouth opens again, probably to make yet another cryptic-yet-oddly-suggestive remark. Kenpachi will actually never know for sure, because at that exact moment, the door to the barracks flies open and Ichigo stumbles out, red-faced and sword held high, his shihakusho half-torn off of him.

"Ah, Ichigo-kun!" Kyouraku cries cheerfully. "Did you enjoy—?"

The rest of his words are lost, muffled beneath the foot that Ichigo sends crashing into the side of his head.

"You son of a bitch!" Ichigo snarls, as Kyouraku crumples to the ground with an unimpressive whimper of pain. "What the hell were you _thinking?_ I should—" he makes several violent, threatening gestures with his sword, and then settles with giving Kyouraku another hard kick, this time in his side.

"Ichigo," Kenpachi growls, unable to hide his glee as he unsheathes his sword and straightens up in what he hopes is an intimidating manner (not at all helped by the delighted squeal that Yachiru lets out at Ichigo's appearance.) "I've come to—"

"—could have DIED in there, asshole! Dammit, don't you understand? I don't—"

"Oh, Kurosaki-kun?"

Both Ichigo and Kenpachi freeze, as a tall, slinky brunette wearing barely any clothing appears in the doorway of the barracks, pouting disapprovingly. "Why did you leave so soon?" she demands, one hand braced on her hip. "We didn't even get to the good part!"

If Kenpachi had eyebrows, they'd be up to his jagged hairline by this point.

Despite being curled on the ground in the fetal position, cowering under Ichigo's wrath, the sigh that Kyouraku lets out is one of utter exasperation.

"Kurosaki-kun," he grumbles, voice somewhat hard to hear, as he has both hands curled protectively over his face. "Don't be so _difficult_. I was only trying to help with your virginity—"

"We don't bite…much," Slinky adds with a teasing smirk.

"Ken-chan," Yachiru hisses in his ear, bewildered. "Ken-chan, what's 'the good part'?"

Kenpachi doesn't answer her, though, as the full weight of Kyouraku's words have just hit him. He whirls around toward Ichigo, who's glancing between the three of them, his expression twisted in a pained sort of way, as if he hasn't quite yet decided whether to be mortified or enraged.

"You're…a virgin?" Kenpachi repeats, not sure he heard right. Ichigo's face goes beet red—mortified, then—and Kenpachi blinks one, twice, trying to wrap his brain around this new information.

"Why don't you come back?" Slinky purrs, crooking her finger in a tempting manner. "I'll make it worth your while…"

"Go for it," Kyouraku says, with an encouraging thumbs-up, and gets another foot in the face for it.

"Ken-chan, what's a virgin?"

Kenpachi doesn't answer this question either. A new idea has just occurred to him, one that perhaps, for the first time in his life, is more appealing than fighting. Kenpachi sheathes his sword again, ignoring the unhappy noise that Yachiru makes in response, as well as the openly confused look that Ichigo shoots him.

"You're…you're not gonna attack me?" he asks, stunned. Kenpachi smirks, and lets his gaze trail thoughtfully up and down along Ichigo's body. The kid's chest and stomach are flat and toned, clearly visible despite Ichigo's best efforts to hold his robes closed. His legs are long; his forehead wrinkled in a frown that Kenpachi would hesitate to call adorable; deep brown eyes flash at him in angry confusion. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Kenpachi stares long and hard enough, until Ichigo suddenly gets the point: his embarrassed flush vanishes in an instant as the blood drains from his face, and he takes a stumbling step backward.

"Holy shit. You've gotta be kidding me," Ichigo says weakly, his voice cracking on the last word. "You're…you're not…you're _gay?"_

"_Are_ you?" Kyouraku asks Kenpachi with considerable interest, back in the dirt and feebly attempting to stem the blood trickling from his nose with the sleeve of his pink kimono.

"Not really," Kenpachi replies, continuing to stroll leisurely in Ichigo's direction, who looks as if he's on the verge of fainting. "But you're not bad-looking, and…" Kenpachi grins wolfishly, and Ichigo goes even paler, if possible. "You know me: I like a good struggle."

"Are you gonna have fun, Ken-chan?" Yachiru interrupts excitedly, and this time Kenpachi responds to her question with a dark, rumbling laugh.

"Something like that."

A distinctly terrified squeak (something he'll hate himself for later) escapes Ichigo at those words. He's temporarily saved, however, by Slinky, who drops her coy demeanor in an instant and storms in between the two, shoving roughly at Kenpachi's shoulder.

"The hell you are," she snaps angrily, and crosses her arms firmly across her ample chest. "Me and my girls are all the way from the 65th District, and we need to get paid. Back off."

Kenpachi snarls, ready to reach for his sword again, when a loud, clanging noise catches his attention. Both of them whirl around to watch as Ichigo (his clothes barely clinging to him) clambers up on top of the barracks and takes off across the roofs of Seireitei, cursing and muttering frantically under his breath.

"Now see what you did?" Slinky growls in frustration, and gives Kenpachi another rough shove.

"A race!" Yachiru cries suddenly, practically beside herself with delight (and the only thing that keeps Kenpachi from unsheathing his sword again as he stares down the woman.) "Ichi wants it to be a race! Whoever gets him first is the winner!"

Slinky and Kenpachi contemplate one another for a moment; then, with startling speed—and a ferocity to rival Kenpachi's own, he has to grudgingly admit—she whips back around toward the barrack and screams out: "Girls! You want your money? Get him!"

"Go, Ken-chan!" Yachiru shrieks as Slinky and her gang burst from the barrack (trampling over Kyouraku), hot on Ichigo's trail. Kenpachi cackles, draws his sword again, and leaps onto the roof as well (one of his feet punching a hole through the ceiling in the process), reaching out mentally to track Ichigo's reiatsu and get whatever advantage he can.

"Wait," Kyouraku cries, lurching to his feet and staggering off behind the rest of them, taking special care to grab his bottle of sake before he leaves. "Wait! Can't we all just…calm down and have a drink?"

* * *

"I suppose we should do something," Yamamoto remarks wearily to his five remaining captains, as they watch Ichigo go flying across the rooftops, clutching his shihakusho closed with both hands; followed closely by Zaraki (brandishing a sword), Kyouraku (brandishing a bottle of sake), and an entire horde of women (brandishing an assortment of bras and underwear.)

"Should we?" Soi-Fon mutters wryly under her breath.

"Perhaps," Unohana replies mildly, eternal smile in place.

A hysterical scream, far in the distance, and the captains exchange bemused glances.

"I didn't know Kurosaki-kun's voice could go that high," Komamura remarks.

"A virgin," Kurotsuchi muses aloud to nobody in particular. "A pure sample. Perhaps he'd consent to breeding with Nemu."

Everyone else makes a subtle point of edging away from Kurotsuchi. Byakuya, expression stony, tosses his head in an arrogant flourish and turns away from the chase they're watching intently.

"This is a waste of my time," he announces and leaves. No one makes an effort to stop him, which Byakuya actually, sincerely appreciates; because the instant he shuts his office door behind him, he claps a hand to his mouth and doubles over in a fit of silent laughter at the mental image of Ichigo's terrified expression.

**To Be Continued…**

I feel like I should be stoned, or at least have some other legitimate excuse for writing this thing. Alas, I…don't. It's just my brain.

Please review! It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, lol.

—Rebel


	3. Chapter 3

Three things before we get started. _**PLEASE READ.**_

One: I am SO SORRY it took so long to get this chapter up. Basically, life can sometimes suck—in case any of you haven't already noticed, lol.

Two: I don't really know when this story takes place/which arc it falls under. I've been vaguely imagining somewhere during the Arrancar one. I say this, because I'm bringing in a few more characters, and I don't want to confuse any sort of timeline. (The reviewer, "Nomnom", lol—ha. You saw right through me on the "certain Arrancar" idea…)

Three: I _love_ you all. Your reviews have been absolutely hilarious (I especially like that several people have said how relatable this story is, lol) and have made me determined to come back and finish what I started. That being said, here we go!

Chapter Three:

Despite the fact that Yoruichi was still absolutely paralyzed with laughter by the time Rangiku showed up at the Shoten, both she and Urahara had adamantly refused to open the Senkaimon so that Rangiku could follow Ichigo into Soul Society and drag him back into the material world.

"I think he wants you to leave him alone," Yoruichi had informed Rangiku in between helpless chuckles. "You're scaring the shit out of him."

"Poor Kurosaki-san," Urahara had chimed in thoughtfully, before the two of them exchanged brief glances and burst into laughter once more.

Needless to say, Rangiku was not pleased and had returned to the DKV's base of operations (AKA, Orihime's living room) in a foul mood.

"This is ridiculous," she snaps, pacing agitatedly back and forth as her team (Ikkaku and Orihime—Yumichika's out of commission, curled up in the corner with an ice pack pressed to his face and mourning his broken nose), plus her additional, unwilling recruits (Renji, Rukia, Chad, and Ishida) look on. "He can fight off all kinds of hollows but he can't make it with a girl? What the hell's the matter with that kid? He doesn't want to stay a virgin for the rest of his life!"  
"Well, how would you know?" Rukia points out, annoyed. "It's not like you ever asked him."

Rangiku ignores this.

"There must be something we're missing," she continues, appealing to the rest of the group. "Don't you think? Otherwise he wouldn't be so unwilling."  
"Maybe if you hadn't announced it in the middle of school," Ishida suggests wryly, though more out of his own annoyance about class being interrupted than a genuine concern for Ichigo's well-being.

Rangiku ignores this as well.

"He's got to like _someone_," she insists, now glaring menacingly at Chad, Orihime and Rukia, certain that they're withholding some vital clue, or piece of valuable information that might help them achieve their mission. "Hasn't he ever mentioned somebody, or had a crush, or…?" She trails off miserably, the three of them already shaking their heads.

"It's never come up."  
"Kurosaki-kun and I don't talk about that kind of thing with each other."

"And even if I did know," Rukia concludes stubbornly, crossing her arms, "I wouldn't tell you. You should leave him al—"

"Yes, yes. I heard you the first ten times," Rangiku snaps and rolls her eyes, before turning hopefully toward Ishida and Renji.

"Don't look at me," Renji says quickly before she can even open her mouth. "I got no idea."

"Neither do I," Ishida adds, and shoves his glasses up along the bridge of his nose. "For all I—and you—know, he could be asexual. It certainly seems that way."

"He better _not_ be, with all the trouble I'm going through for him," Rangiku mutters, and kicks out angrily at the couch, succeeding only in stubbing her toe.

"Well, maybe," Orihime begins reluctantly, but stops short at the sound of a series of electronic beeps from the other room, followed by a faint, curious voice calling out.

_"Hello? Shiro-tan? Rangiku-chan? Are you there?"_

"Is that…?" Chad begins in surprise, but Rangiku has already vaulted over the couch and gone racing into the other room (stumbling a little over the door she broke open the previous day, which is still barely clinging to its hinges) in order to beat Hitsugaya to the screen. Kyouraku is peering uncertainly into the room, but his face lights up as she enters.

"Afternoon, Rangiku-chan!"

"Captain," she replies politely. By now, the rest of the group (minus Ikkaku and Yumichika) have clustered in the doorway as well, astonished by Kyouraku's unexpected appearance. Admittedly, it's a little irritating having them all huddled together and staring, but Rangiku lets them be: she's going to need some sort of blockade to protect her, in case Hitsugaya shows up.

"So," Kyouraku continues briskly, and claps his hands together twice. "From what I gather, you're probably interested in the current whereabouts of one Kurosaki Ichigo, no?"

"Yes!" Rangiku replies eagerly, thrilled to at last have some sort of lead again. "We were—"

"I know," Kyouraku says with a grin, cutting her off. "I've heard all about his 'problem' and your group's, uh…solution."

"_Her_ solution," Rukia grumbles from the doorway. Rangiku makes a mental note to throw her shoe at Rukia's head at the next available opportunity.

"We tried to help," Rangiku explains, pretending as though she wasn't just oh-so-rudely interrupted, "but he ran off to Soul Society, and Urahara-san wouldn't let us through. So we've—"

"Kisuke-san was the one who helped him get to Soul Society?" Kyouraku interjects yet again, but he sounds intrigued now, one eyebrow raised thoughtfully, as if some new idea has just suddenly occurred to him.

"Yes, sir," Rangiku continues, trying her best to hold back the impatient edge threatening to creep into her voice. Mission or not, she's still talking to one of the oldest, and most (although questionably, at times) respected captains in Soul Society. "We've been trying to think of other ways to—"

"_Kisuke-san?"_ Kyouraku repeats, openly smirking by now. _"Really?"_

"Er…" Rangiku glances at the rest of the group, who seem equally bewildered by Kyouraku's musings. "Yes. He's the only one who—"

"Imagine that," Kyouraku murmurs, and chuckles to himself. Rangiku doesn't see what's so damn funny; if not for her years of training, and Kyouraku's rank (and the screen separating them, for that matter), she'd be grabbing him by the front of shihakusho with one hand, the other reaching for Haieneko, ready to beat the information she needs out of him.

"You didn't happen to find him, did you, sir?" she asks instead through gritted teeth, her fingers twitching longingly for the hilt of her sword. Kyouraku nods wryly.

"I did. I actually tried to…_help_ him as well," he adds with a meaningful look. Rangiku's eyebrows fly up, as behind her Orihime lets out a squeak. Chad, Ishida, Renji, and Rukia all appear equally stricken, and Kyouraku frowns at them, before another burst of laughter escapes him.

"No! No, not _me!_ I tried to…" he bites at his lower lip, fighting back another smirk. "I tried introducing him to a few friends of mine. It didn't go over so well. Also, Captain Zaraki is now after him. That wasn't my fault, I don't think," he adds, in response to the horrified giggle that escapes Renji. Kyouraku sighs and thinks for another moment, then taps the screen again to get Rangiku's attention.

"If I'm right—and I believe I am, since Kurosaki-kun can only run for so much longer before they—"

"'They'?" Rukia asks, alarmed. "How many people are—?"

"—he'll probably be heading back to Karakura soon. You can head him off then."

"Excellent!" Rangiku cries, all smiles again, now that her plan is back on track. "So all we need to do is find a girl—"

She stops short as Kyouraku gives another laugh. There's an oddly mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he leans closer to the screen in a confidential manner and says in a whisper: "One more thing, Rangiku-chan. If I were you, I wouldn't bother with the girl."

He winks meaningfully at her, nods cheerily to the others, and then disappears as the screen gives another series of short beeps and goes black. Rangiku blinks several times, bewildered, before turning to the others in the hope that they were somehow able to make sense of Kyouraku's cryptic words. They look as utterly lost as she feels, though.

"The hell is that supposed mean?" Renji grumbles, flopping down on the couch again as they trudge back into the living room. "Bastard never makes any sense."

"Renji," Rukia begins reproachfully, but Rangiku cuts her off with a groan of frustration, as she rakes her fingers through her long hair.

"Stupid kid," she snaps, kicking out again (though taking care this time to avoid the couch. Her toe's still throbbing.) "Why is he being so damn stubborn? What's his problem, anyway?"

From where she's curled up in her chair, Orihime gives a sudden, soft gasp; her eyes are wide with apprehension, as she slowly raises one trembling hand.

"What?" Rangiku demands suspiciously, fully expecting yet another stuttering plea to leave Ichigo alone. Which is probably part of the reason why what Orihime _actually_ says next is so thoroughly shocking.

"What if…" Orihime says slowly, as if she's still turning the idea over in her head. She bites at her lower lip nervously, glances quickly around at all of them, and then continues, in barely a whisper: "What if what Kyouraku-san meant is…is that Kurosaki-kun's…_gay?"_

A stunned silence greets her words—broken only when Renji, after a moment of initial disbelief, gives a loud bark of laughter.

_"What?"_ he demands, grinning broadly. "C'mon, Inoue, there's no way." He gives a disbelieving chuckle and nudges Chad, seated beside him, in an invitation to join in on the joke. Renji's grin quickly fades, however, as he takes in the disturbingly thoughtful expressions on everyone's faces.

"I suppose that's not…completely unlikely," Rukia begins, a finger tapping her chin, unable to hold back a small smile. "It would sort of make sense. He isn't really comfortable hanging out with a lot of girls."

"He's never asked anyone out, either," Chad adds in dawning realization, exchanging a bemused look with Ishida and Orihime, who are seated together across the room and both nodding in agreement at his words.

"And he's never once checked out my boobs!" Rangiku concludes, a fanatical glint appearing in her eye once more as she pumps her fist in the air triumphantly. "You've done it again, Orihime!"

"Hang on!" Renji squawks, interrupting Rangiku's burst of cackling and jumping to his feet, arms folded across his chest. He turns on Rukia, one tattooed eyebrow raised disapprovingly. "_Seriously?"_ he demands. "Think about what you're saying. How—_why_ would he be gay?"

"Well, I don't know," Rukia retorts waspishly, "why would _you_ be gay?"

Ikkaku pauses in his quiet consoling of Yumichika (still pouting) to shoot Renji a knowing look, unsuccessfully stifling a chuckle. Renji's cheeks go as bright red as his hair.

"But—but I'm not!" he stammers loudly in protest. There's an awkward silence, interrupted by a cough from Ikkaku that sounds suspiciously like, "Byakuya." Renji's face contorts in embarrassment, but he's saved by Rangiku's ranting, who's back to pacing feverishly around the living room.

"That's it," she mutters to herself, and then louder: "That's _it!_ Kurosaki's afraid to come out! He thinks we'll reject him if we know, so he's been forced to sacrifice his romantic passions through the years for the sake of friendship!"

"Dunno _where_ she gets these theories," Ikkaku mutters out the side of his mouth, though he's careful to keep his voice low, so Rangiku won't overhear. Rukia, not yet as wise as Ikkaku, gives a derisive snort.

"You sound like a bad TV drama," she says flatly, and then ducks to avoid the incoming shoe aimed for her head.

"Is that really true?" Orihime asks, wringing her hands, utterly distraught at the prospect of Ichigo's supposed "suffering."

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Rangiku concludes solemnly. "We've never made it clear that we wouldn't mind if he were gay, have we? How was he supposed to know?"

Her words carry unexpected weight. Chad seems troubled by this revelation, as does Ishida; Rukia, preparing a snide comeback as she emerges from under the cover of the couch, is caught off-guard by the flicker of guilt that Rangiku's statement triggers in her. Even Ikkaku and Yumichika glance up from their corner with twin expressions of concern.

There's another quiet moment.

"_I'm_ not gay," Renji interjects loudly.

Everyone ignores him.

* * *

He's got a plan. Believe it or not, in the midst of running for his goddamn life, and taking into consideration that he's more of a "stab first, ask questions later" kind of a guy, Ichigo's managed to come up with a plan to get himself out of this nightmarish situation. Admittedly, it's kinda half-assed, but given his current circumstances (being chased around for the past hour and a half by a homicidal maniac/would-be rapist and a gang of prostitutes), Ichigo thinks it's pretty damn good.

Considering.

Ichigo dives around another corner, narrowly avoiding being spotted by a curvy blonde prowling past, her outfit (not that she was wearing much to begin with, he notes in embarrassment) starting to come undone from the chase. Still, between the two, he'll take the prostitutes over Kenpachi—who, Ichigo is happy to report, is currently all the way on the other side of Seireitei. Thank God for Yachiru and her complete inability to tell her ass from her elbow, much less her right from left.

Ichigo heaves a quiet sigh of relief and slumps against the wall behind him, taking a moment to breathe and wipe the sweat off his forehead. So, here's what he's thinking: he's gotta find some way to get back to Karakura. Rangiku may be legitimately insane, but at least she hasn't tried to rape him (yet.) All he's got to do is avoid her long enough to try and find someone willing to play along and _pretend_ to sleep with him. That way, he'll have someone to vouch for him, Rangiku will leave him the hell alone, and nobody will ever know the truth or have to mention his virginity again. Case closed.

The only snag is…who? Probably Rukia, Ichigo thinks, and allows himself a soft, if uncomfortable laugh. She does owe him, since it's her fault he's in this situation in the first place, but that doesn't mean it won't be incredibly awkward all the same. He doesn't want to fake being straight, but he hasn't come out yet (and given his current circumstances, Ichigo doesn't think now would be the best time to reveal that particular piece of personal information.) Anyway…it's not like he knows any other guys who _are_ out…or even interested in him, if they were.

_But…didn't Urahara nearly kiss you?_ a sly voice at the back of his mind remarks, and Ichigo blushes a little at the thought. It's true…they did seem awfully close, back in Urahara's basement; but it's a hazy memory at best. Ichigo can't be entirely sure on the details, given that he was both preoccupied with escaping Rangiku's clutches, and on the verge of fainting from being so close to his crush. In all likelihood, he's probably misinterpreting what really happened—hoping pathetically for something that's not actually there.

Ichigo's chest tightens miserably. Why would someone like Urahara ever be interested in _him?_

"Psst! Kurosaki!"

Ichigo twitches nervously at the sound of his own name, one hand flying automatically to the hilt of his sword as he glances up. He's surprised to find Kiyone peering at him around a nearby corner, her cheeks flushed with excitement. As soon as she sees that she's got his attention, she begins gesturing furiously for him to come closer. Ichigo hesitates.

"What do you want?" he demands warily. Kiyone raises an eyebrow in momentary confusion at his tone, and then rolls her eyes with more exasperation than Ichigo feels is entirely necessary.

"Don't worry," she tells him dryly, "you're not my type. I have a message for you, from Captain Ukitake. He has to plan to help you get out of here!"

Ichigo's heart leaps a little at her words, but he doesn't move—not yet. He can't help but be cautious: the last time someone tried to "help" him is how he wound up in his current predicament. But…Ukitake's always seemed slightly more sane than the majority of the other captains in the Gotei 13; Ichigo can't really see someone like Kiyone secretly conspiring with Kenpachi to attack him, either.

He slowly edges out of his hiding spot, glancing all around him as he does, in order to check for a potential, incoming ambush; he probably looks completely spastic, but he's not taking any chances. Much to his surprise, the corridor—swarming with women a few minutes before—is now completely empty. Kiyone notices his bemused expression and smirks wickedly.

"Kotsubaki's posing as you, to give you enough time to escape."

Far in the distance, a blood-curdling scream reaches them; Kiyone's grin widens further, and Ichigo goes pale.

"Let's get moving," he squeaks out, and Kiyone takes off down the corridor, Ichigo on her heels.

* * *

Grimmjow Jeagerjacques is in a rotten mood. Granted, he's usually in a rotten mood, but today seems to be especially Bad-with-a-capital-B, heading in a downward spiral directly towards Utter Shit. He's already strangled two Fraccions to death, knocked down an entire wall in his private quarters, and torn apart half a dozen Menos Grande. This, Grimmjow thinks fiercely to himself, is what happens when fucking "Aizen-sama" drags him out of bed at an ungodly hour, forces him to listen to some boring-ass speech about world domination, and then sends him out on a mission. With Ulquiorra.

"I still don't see what the point of this is," Grimmjow snaps, trailing far behind Ulquiorra, Halibel, and Stark as they make their way through the Garganta connecting Las Noches to the material world. Normally, Grimmjow would gladly embrace the opportunity to wreak some good old fashioned havoc on Karakura and, if he's lucky, kick the shit out of a certain orange-haired shinigami; normally, however, Aizen has enough sense not to partner him up with a certain green-eyed bastard with an entire fucking tree trunk shoved up his pale white ass.

At the head of the group, Ulquiorra pauses and turns to stare Grimmjow down with that eternally placid expression—the one that never fails to make Grimmjow want to tear it off his stupid face.

"We are being sent to gauge the strength of the shinigami posted in Karakura Town," Ulquiorra replies calmly, unable to keep out the faintest trace of condescension in his otherwise monotone voice. He pauses deliberately and then adds, with a shadow of a sneer, "Not that it is your place to question Aizen-sama's orders."

Grimmjow's upper lip curls, baring his teeth, ignoring the way Halibel is following their exchange with a barely repressed smirk. Stark seizes upon their hesitation and falls asleep on his feet, mouth hanging open, a glistening trail of drool already making its way down his chin.

"We should continue," Ulquiorra announces calmly, breaking the staring contest to eye Stark's drooling with vague disdain. "We have a schedule to keep to, and we would not want to disappoint Aizen-sama."

"_Anything_ but that," Grimmjow mutters under his breath. Ulquiorra's eyes narrow fractionally, but a moment later he turns on his heel and resumes strolling forward, Halibel following him. Grimmjow glowers at their retreating backs, teeth grinding together as he resists the urge to spit out another snide remark. What he wouldn't give to rip Ulquiorra's eyes out, to put his fist through his head. Smug son of a bitch.

He'd be pushing it, though. Much as Grimmjow loathes to admit it, he's been testing Aizen's patience lately—the temper tantrum today just one more strike against him—and he doesn't need to give that bastard (possibly the only person in the world he hates more than Ulquiorra) an excuse to humiliate him in front of the other Espada again. Grimmjow represses a snarl, nails digging into the palms of his hands, threatening to break skin.

Breathe, he tells himself, and reluctantly forces his fists to uncurl. Some day soon, when they least expect it, he'll destroy them both—but until then, he'll have to wait. Wait, and settle for something…almost as satisfying, Grimmjow thinks, and allows himself a small smirk as he remembers bright orange hair, and an intoxicatingly powerful reiatsu. He jabs Stark once with his elbow, startling him awake so they can continue their trek through the Garganta's darkness.

Kurosaki, Grimmjow thinks to himself, and licks his lips in anticipation, I hope you're ready for me.

* * *

"I just—I don't know how to thank you," Ichigo says again for the seventh time in the past fifteen minutes, still half-giggling in relief as he wipes away the last traces of sweat. Ukitake merely chuckles in response, waving off Ichigo's gratitude.

"Think nothing of it, Kurosaki-kun. I couldn't very well sit by and let you be terrorized. And anyway, it's really—"

The rest of Ukitake's words are drowned out, however, by a series of squeaks as a high-powered drill goes off, alongside a chorus of clanging hammers and Akon shouting orders left and right at various members of 12th squad. Ichigo, Ukitake, and Kiyone are standing at the very center of Kurotsuchi's main laboratory: a large, dark, warehouse-type building that reminds Ichigo more of an underground cave. There seems to be a permanent chill hanging in the air, and a soft, mysterious fluttering sound occasionally comes from the rafters that loom over their heads—like at any moment, vampire bats might descend upon them.

"This place is Captain Kurotsuchi's pride and joy," Kiyone had muttered wryly to him under her breath when they'd first arrived, noticing the somewhat distasteful look on Ichigo's face; he'd quickly rearranged his expression into one of mild interest, but now, fifteen minutes later, it's getting harder to keep up the pretense for the sake of being polite. The only light in the place is from the flickering, wall-to-ceiling computer screens, and there are tables upon tables covered in various beakers of awful smelling chemicals. Between the two, Ichigo's starting to get a little light-headed, not at all helped by his exhaustion after running around non-stop for the past hour and a half in the sweltering heat.

All he can hope for, Ichigo thinks, as he turns away from Ukitake for a moment to survey the 12th squad as they scuttle around, lugging power tools twice their size behind them, is that this whole process doesn't take much longer. They're currently working on stabilizing a large, metallic frame of some kind that, so Ukitake claims, serves as a substitute Senkaimon and portal to the material world.

"Anyway," Ukitake continues cheerfully when the drill is shut off, as if he were never interrupted in the first place, "it's really no trouble at all. No doubt, Zaraki-san will be watching the main Senkaimon between Soul Society and the material world. This is the only possible solution—and I already knew Kurotsuchi was working on building an alternate gate."

"And…he's willing to help?" Ichigo asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow. He hasn't really had a chance to get to know Kurotsuchi, but based on the stories he's heard from Ishida, Ichigo's more than happy to keep it that way, thanks much.

"Out of the goodness of my heart," a calm, high voice interjects pleasantly, as Kurotsuchi emerges from a shadowy corner—like a vampire, Ichigo notes suspiciously—Nemu shuffling after him. He flashes them all a broad smile that is probably supposed to come off as benevolent, but only manages to make him look more demented than usual.

"Well…that's very kind of you," Ichigo offers awkwardly. Kurotsuchi's smile widens further, if possible, and he edges a little closer toward Ichigo, hauling Nemu after him.

"Have you met my daughter, Kurosaki-san?" he asks, and then adds in a perfectly conversational tone, before Ichigo even has a chance to answer, "She's a virgin too. Are you not, Nemu?"

Ichigo goes bright red at those words, his eyes darting to the floor to avoid meeting Nemu's blank gaze.

"No kidding. What, uh…what are the odds?" he replies rather stupidly, staring at his shoes. He misses the warning glare that Ukitake shoots Kurotsuchi, as well as Kiyone's attempts to stifle a snort of laughter. Mercifully (for the first time today, as a matter of fact) Ichigo's rescued from any further embarrassment by a low cough, as Akon approaches the group, head bowed respectfully.

"Captain Kurotsuchi, we've completed the substitute Senkaimon."

"Turn it on, then," Kurotsuchi snaps, irritated at the interruption. "See if you've improved it at all since last time."

Akon nods again and hurries over to where the rest of 12th squad is waiting for him, huddled around a main computer linked to the metal frame; there's a loud click, like a switch being thrown, followed by a low hum of electricity, as the Senkaimon comes to life with a rush of air and blue-white light. Ichigo raises a hand to shield against the glare—entirely unwilling to shut his eyes with Kurotsuchi now less than three feet away from him, and very pointedly nudging a docile Nemu even closer. A minute passes, then two, and a triumphant cheer goes up amongst the 12th squad.

"Stabilization appears successful!" Akon shouts over the noise. "Better hurry, though, captain. No telling how long it might last for this time!"

Ichigo directs his attention to Ukitake and Kiyone, both of them watching him expectantly.

"Really," Ichigo says, with the utmost sincerity, "thank you so much."

"There's never any need to thank me, Kurosaki-kun," Ukitake replies, sweeping into a low, elegant bow, hair framing his face in a perfect sweep. There are practically stars dancing in Kiyone's eyes, as she hovers reverently at his side. "I am eternally happy to help."

"Still," Ichigo replies, sheepish. There really isn't an eloquent way to express gratitude to the one person all day who's shown concern for any part of him that isn't below the waist.

"Don't I get a thank you of some kind?" Kurotsuchi hisses—in his freaking _ear_; Ichigo twitches violently and does a kind of half-leap into the air that, despite making him look perfectly ridiculous, also manages to get him a good distance between himself and Kurotsuchi, who's now practically shoving Nemu at him.

"Uh, yes," Ichigo mumbles. "Yes, thank you so much. I don't, er…know how I'll ever repay you."

"I'm sure I can think of something," Kurotsuchi says in his eerie sing-song voice. Ichigo swallows hard around a lump in his throat and pointedly does _not_ dive behind Ukitake for protection, no matter how desperately he wants to.

"I think I'd better be going for now," he says instead, much louder than perhaps necessary, and with a final wave at Ukitake and Kiyone over his shoulder, starts for the waiting Senkaimon. He's gonna have to move fast, once he gets back to Karakura—start searching for Rukia's reiatsu before Rangiku picks up on his own; remember the plan, Ichigo tells himself repeatedly as he nears the gate, just remember the plan, and (somehow) everything will be all right.

And then several things happen at once.

Ichigo's less than a foot from the Senkaimon when a sudden rush of reiatsu appears just outside the laboratory—all too powerful and, much to Ichigo's horror, all too familiar—right before the doors are blown off their industrial size hinges; they fly through the air to crack several computer screens and topple over the lab tables, chemicals spilling everywhere. The explosion of reiatsu is also strong enough to knock out several 12th squad members, along with Nemu and Kiyone; Ukitake, Kurotsuchi, and Ichigo stagger a little, but manage to keep their balance.

"FOUND YOU!" a delighted voice cries, as the rubble clears, and Ichigo takes a step back, and then another, at the sight of Kenpachi looming in the remains of the doorway, Yachiru perched atop his head and waving gleefully at the three of them.

"Found you," Kenpachi agrees with a positively maniacal grin, pointing at Ichigo with the tip of his sword; Kotsubaki's unconscious body is clutched in one massive hand, a ridiculous orange wig slipping sideways off his head. Doesn't take much to fool them, I guess—thank God, Ichigo thinks weakly, struggling not to pass out himself.

"Now, Zaraki-san," Ukitake begins in a placating tone, stepping into Ichigo's path with one hand raised; the other is moving for the hilt of his sword. "It's no good. Kurosaki-kun doesn't want to—"

"Be gone, Zaraki!" Kurotsuchi cuts Ukitake off impatiently, shoving him out of the way. "He's mine now. I require a virgin for experimentation—you'll only ruin my tests!"

"Ken-chan saw him first!" Yachiru howls back in righteous indignation. "You're not playing, it's not fair!"

Never mind that they're talking about me like I'm not even here, Ichigo notes, annoyed.

"Come here, Ichigo!" Kenpachi roars , as a second burst of reiatsu floods through the lab; the frame of the Senkaimon creaks in warning under the strain, the portal wavering dangerously. Kurotsuchi snarls and draws his sword as well, raising it high over his head in warning.

"The gate's not going to hold much longer!" Akon yells, pausing in his efforts to drag the unconscious lab assistants to safety. Ukitake, picking himself up off the ground, whirls around and spots Ichigo still hesitating by the entrance to the Senkaimon.

"Hurry, Kurosaki-kun!" he shouts, as Kurotsuchi's sword starts to glow, his own reiatsu mounting and clashing against Kenpachi's. Ichigo doesn't need to be told twice—he dives into the Senkaimon, just as he hears Kurotsuchi's cry of "BANKAI!", Kenpachi's eager cackle ringing out in response. Ichigo's feet hit the ground (so to speak), as all around him the hallway trembles, threatening to collapse. He hurtles down the passage at breakneck speed, heading toward the distant light waiting for him at the end.

Almost there, Ichigo thinks, panting and clutching at a stitch in his side, muscles screaming in protest. Almost safe.

If only that were the case.

* * *

The Garganta slides open just above Karakura's skyline, as one by one the Espada emerge. The light hurts Grimmjow's eyes after the darkness of Hueco Mundo, but he grits his teeth and focuses; ignores Ulquiorra, as he starts in on his little speech about their orders, and searches with his mind for Ichigo's unmistakable reiatsu.

"C'mon, Kurosaki," Grimmjow murmurs softly under his breath, ignoring the bemused, sidelong glance Halibel throws him. "Where the hell are you?"

"—Aizen-sama's suggestion that we track down Captain Hitsugaya, of 10th squad, and engage him in battle," Ulquiorra drones on and on. "That way, we may—"

He's not here. Grimmjow's eyes narrow, scanning the sprawl of Karakura beneath him; double, triple-checking—but Ichigo's not here, and a furious curse escapes him before he has the chance to silence himself. Ulquiorra falters, turning to stare him down with barely restrained frustration; under other circumstances, it might even make Grimmjow smile.

"What is wrong?"

"He ain't fucking here!" Grimmjow snaps, no longer willing to silence his anger as he kicks out viciously at the thin air. Somewhere deep down, he hates himself for throwing yet another hissy-fit in front of the others, but god _damn_ it—he's bored, and he's pissed, and all he needs right now is to take it out on Ichigo's stupid, smug face, and the kid doesn't even have the decency to be around for it.

"We are not here for Kurosaki Ichigo," Ulquiorra informs him flatly, reading Grimmjow's mind (not that it was particularly difficult to guess.) "Captain Hitsugaya Toshiro is our priority, along with—"

"I don't give a shit about priorities!" Grimmjow snarls back, and Ulquiorra's right eye twitches ever so slightly. Halibel sighs, uninterested in their bickering; left to his own devices, Stark's already fallen asleep again, curled up in a nearby patch of cloud.

"We are to track Captain Hitsugaya, nothing more, nothing less. If you do not comply—" here, Ulquiorra's voice takes on just a hint of underlying menace "—I shall be forced to tell Aizen-sama that you did not see fit to obey his orders."

Grimmjow gives him the finger.

"I ain't going anywhere until Kurosaki comes back. You tell Aizen-sama he can suck my—"

Fortunately for Grimmjow, the rest of the threat is lost, as directly over his head the substitute Senkaimon opens and none other than Ichigo, gasping for air and tripping on his own robes, tumbles out and proceeds to land directly on top Grimmjow's head. Grimmjow staggers here and there, stunned, and then collapses in a heap of flailing limbs, Ichigo spitting and swearing like a deranged cat as he struggles uselessly to disentangle himself.

"Looks like he found you," Halibel remarks dryly. Ichigo finally manages to break free and scrambles to his feet, Zangetsu already in hand as he surveys the four of them with growing alarm. Grimmjow, slightly more dazed by the fall, takes a little longer to recover, though he does eventually haul himself upright. The instant his eyes lock with Ichigo's, though, Grimmjow's head clears and he shakes off his dizziness, reaching for Pantera

"Hey, there, shinigami," he drawls, a wicked glee soothing the murderous rage that overtook him just seconds before. "Imagine seeing you here." He bares his teeth at Ichigo in a eager grin, and a surge of delighted anticipation courses through him as he watches Ichigo's expression twist in an ugly smirk to match Grimmjow's own. Off on the sidelines, Ulquiorra just barely manages to resist the temptation of rolling his eyes. He has an infinite amount of patience, really—except when it comes to these two.

"You picked a bad day to run into me," Ichigo tells them with a snarl, knees bending into a fighting stance.

"What a coincidence," Grimmjow replies, and takes a moment to shoot a nasty look in Ulquiorra's direction. "Same here."

Ichigo laughs harshly, and beckons for him.

"Bring it."

* * *

He never thought the day would come when he'd mean these words, but Ichigo is actually, totally, sincerely happy to see Grimmjow Jeagerjacques at this particular point in time. Any thoughts of his plan regarding his virginity have momentarily disappeared, as his fingers tighten around Zangetsu's hilt, any attempt to search for Rangiku's—or Rukia's, more importantly—reiatsu abandoned, as Ichigo tenses and waits for Grimmjow to attack.

Maybe it's stupid, to lose focus, and to do so willingly in spite of the voice in his head screaming at him that he's got more important problems to worry about. But the fact of the matter is, underneath the constant panic and humiliation he's been put through all day, there's something dark and enraged swirling in the pit of Ichigo's stomach; enough to make him sick—enough to make him desperate for a chance to lash out, fight back against somebody, _anybody._ Fighting is often the only way Ichigo can forget about all the chaotic shit that seems to be constantly bearing down on him; his coping mechanism against all the things in his life that he can't control, no matter how bad he wishes he could; and with Grimmjow standing right in front of him, ready to go, how can Ichigo possibly refuse?

_Finally_, Ichigo thinks as he raises Zangetsu in preparation to strike, _something's_ going right.

Except for…not.

A low rumbling above their heads makes everyone (with the exception of Stark) freeze, and then glance up, watching in confusion as the stretch of sky just above them crackles with unnatural electricity. It's not a storm—the blazing afternoon sun is clear evidence against that, Ichigo thinks to himself with a frown, unintentionally letting down his guard.

"The fuck?" Grimmjow snaps, forgetting about their impending battle as well. The electricity grows even stronger, as a strong, steady pulse of reiatsu joins it; and Ichigo realizes, just as the doorway of the Senkaimon reappears, and flies open with a careless bang, what's about to happen.

Oh God, oh _shit_. He's gotta get out of here, and Ichigo staggers backward in a panic, fumbling with Zangetsu—or rather, he's gotta switch into freaking bankai mode, if he wants to move fast enough to stand a chance of escaping. But already, he's out of time, and—

The Senkaimon's door comes crashing open, and (of fucking _course_, Ichigo thinks weakly) none other than Kenpachi leaps out. His shihakusho's torn in several places, like Mayuri managed to score at least a couple of blows, and a few of his spikes have gone limp, but otherwise he appears no worse for wear. His fierce gaze sweeps over each of them, settling triumphantly on Ichigo.

"Miss me?" he purrs in an uncharacteristic attempt to be seductive. Ichigo might cringe if he weren't on the verge of bursting into tears of pure frustration.

"What the hell? How—why—what are _you_ doing here?" Ichigo wails helplessly, by way of answer. He can sense Grimmjow shooting him a disapproving glare at his moment of weakness; Kenpachi, on the other hand, almost seems to enjoy Ichigo's despair, as he deliberately licks his lips and takes a menacing step toward Ichigo.

"Getting a piece of that virgin ass," he growls, and fucking _winks_. "Why else?"

Both of Grimmjow's jaws drop, Halibel's eyes go wide, and even Ulquiorra seems mildly startled at this announcement, all three of their heads swiveling toward Ichigo as they follow their exchange.

Ichigo, for his part, feels as if the bottom of his stomach has just dropped out; like he's in one of those horrifying nightmares that everybody else but him seems to have—the one where he's standing in the middle of school wearing nothing but his boxers while everyone points and laughs. But this is undeniably for real, and as his gaze passes over each of the Espadas astonished faces, Ichigo wants nothing more than to crawl under a rock and disappear.

Why them? is what he wants to scream at Kenpachi, if only he could find his voice, if only he could move instead of being frozen to the spot in numb humiliation. Why did you have to do this to me in front of _them?_

"You're…a virgin?" Grimmjow has recovered his voice at long length, staring at Ichigo as though Christmas has come early this year. There's a strange gleam in his eyes that Ichigo's not sure he likes, but he's too distracted to pay much attention.

"That information is not relevant to our mission," Ulquiorra interjects, trying to take control of the situation again and failing miserably: Grimmjow is literally bent-double with hysterical laughter, and even Halibel looks somewhat amused at this revelation; from his cloud, Stark snores loudly.

"Oi, Kurosaki," Kenpachi says, his gaze never once wavering from where it's fixed on Ichigo. "Now, listen up: we can do this the easy way, or…" He grins, savoring his next words. "…the _hard_ way. Your choice."

"Neither," Ichigo snaps, finally regaining his voice, at least to a degree. It comes out less the intimidating growl he was aiming for, and more a mortified squeak, but Ichigo doesn't let it throw him as he hurls both Zangetsu and the largest wave of reiatsu he can summon at Kenpachi. It's not enough to knock him off balance—probably won't do more than make Kenpachi stumble—but all Ichigo needs is enough time to give him the chance to flee. All the fight has drained out of him at Zaraki's arrival, and he's back to his original plan of making a run for it.

Ichigo whirls quickly on his heel, preparing to bolt—can't even risk glancing back over his shoulder to see if his plan worked—scanning for Rukia's reiatsu as he lunges forward. He's yanked back, however, by the muscular arms that fold themselves around his waist. Ichigo's heart leaps into his throat, mind racing; there's no way Kenpachi could have recovered that fast—he's good, but he's not that good. That only leaves…

"Where you going so fast, eh, shinigami?"

Grimmjow's voice is a soft, almost gentle murmur, as he presses up close behind Ichigo, lips moving against the curve of his neck. For a moment, Ichigo prays that this is just a bizarre joke on Grimmjow's part—a way of screwing with him beyond the standard beatings and verbal taunts—right before Grimmjow's _teeth_ graze against his skin. And Ichigo realizes, with a jolt of terror, that he's being completely serious.

"Stop," he demands, but the order loses its edge as one of Grimmjow's hands dips lower, stroking along his hip; his tongue flicks teasingly at the shell of Ichigo's ear.

"Poor Kurosaki. If I'd known you were a virgin, I'd have done this _so _much sooner." Grimmjow's speaking in little more than a whisper now, as he starts sucking and biting at Ichigo's neck. Ichigo, for his part, thrashes against his hold, unable to break free. He's suddenly hoping that Kenpachi _isn't_ knocked out, or that the other Espada—Ulquiorra, at least—will step in, make Grimmjow back off.

Nobody comes to his rescue, though, and Grimmjow grips him even tighter; the hand splayed on Ichigo's hip goes lower still.

"Does it feel good, Ichigo, being touched like this?" Grimmjow's hand begins to move, gently cupping Ichigo's—much to his disbelief and horror—already half-hard erection. Ichigo's body is trembling violently, and flushed all over, hot and cold all at once. He feels both nauseous and yet, no matter how much he wants to deny it, unbelievably turned on. I don't want this to happen, he tells himself over and over again, in a feeble effort to resist Grimmjow's touch, I don't, I _don't_. The first time anyone's put their hands on him, and it's coming from his fucking rival, when Ichigo secretly wishes, more than anything, that it were from Urahara instead.

But…but no one's ever done this to him either, ever shown any interest in him, ever held him the way Grimmjow is right now. There's never been someone to whisper teasingly to him, to toy with his body, and it's _good_, better than he even imagined. A very small whimper escapes Ichigo, his hips bucking into the hand palming his cock before he can stop himself, and he feels Grimmjow smirk against his neck.

"Stop," Ichigo says again, his voice breathy and shaking with need. Grimmjow only chuckles, nipping at his earlobe.

"Make me."

Ichigo doesn't. Have to, that is. Kenpachi takes care of that much, as his sword drives through Grimmjow's shoulder, yanking them apart; narrowly misses taking off Ichigo's ear in the process—the one Grimmjow was so busy sucking on, he didn't notice Kenpachi creeping up behind him all the while.

"Back off! He's mine!" Kenpachi snarls, and flings Grimmjow violently through the air. Ulquiorra and Halibel, watching the scene unfolding in front of them with twin expressions of immense boredom, step calmly out of the way; Grimmjow crash-lands in the exact spot they were standing only seconds before. He lets out an animal howl of enraged pain, and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, glowering hatefully back at Kenpachi.

"Says who?" Grimmjow retorts when he regains his breath, and gets to his feet, whipping out Pantera once more. Kenpachi starts toward Grimmjow with a warning growl—like a predator preparing to rip into its prey, Ichigo thinks wryly, as he struggles to get control over own his breath. In a sense, their jealousy might almost be oddly flattering. If, you know, he wasn't scared to death of both of them.

"I'll fight you for him too, if I have to."

"Let's see what you got!" Grimmjow fires back, and their blades lock with a clang of steel and a shower of sparks. Ichigo takes advantage of their lapse in focus and switches into bankai mode; the sudden surge in his reiatsu doesn't even deter them from their battle.

"They're more alike than I realized," he mutters to himself, and half-laughs, right as he goes speeding off in the opposite direction; racing to find Rukia, while trying hard as he can to shake off the sensation of Grimmjow's hands still trailing over his body.

* * *

"It's always like this," Ulquiorra remarks, in a tone that might almost be described as dejected, were he the emotional type. He watches dully for a minute, as Zaraki and Grimmjow exchange blows and insults, and then continues. "Every time we have a plan, no one ever goes along with it. I have told Aizen-sama this, time and again, to no avail."

Halibel pats his shoulder in an awkward attempt at sympathy.

"Perhaps," she suggests, after some consideration, "the two of us might still complete our mission. Kurosaki is an ally with Captain Hitsugaya. We can track him, and potentially determine Hitsugaya Toshiro's whereabouts."

A flicker of interest stirs within Ulquiorra.

"I suppose we could," he begins thoughtfully, eyes following Grimmjow as he's thrown through the air again. Leave Grimmjow to get the shit beaten out of him, and in the meantime, get all the glory for himself. Not a bad idea, that… Ulquiorra's almost mildly disappointed he didn't think of it first.

"And," Halibel adds, aqua eyes aglow with new inspiration, "Kurosaki's virginity might prove interesting information to Aizen-sama as well."

"An accomplished mission, for once, along with an additional prize," Ulquiorra concludes, guessing her thoughts. Halibel quirks an eyebrow at him, and he can tell beneath the hood that she's allowed herself a rare smile.

"If you want something done, you must do it yourself," she replies, and turns her body accordingly in the direction that Ichigo fled, poised to follow. Ulquiorra stares at her a moment longer, a ghost of a smirk fleeting across his otherwise still features.

"Quite," he agrees, and both of them sonido off, after Ichigo as well.

A few feet away, Stark gives a particularly loud snort and startles himself into brief wakefulness.

"What'd I miss?" he asks blearily, glancing about at his surroundings. Ulquiorra and Halibel have disappeared without so much as a goodbye, and in the distance, Grimmjow appears to be wrestling with some kind of large, spiked beast. Stark yawns widely.

"Do you need any help?" he calls out to Grimmjow; the response he receives is little more than an explosion of violent curses and the crack of Grimmjow's fist slamming into Kenpachi's jaw.

"Guess not," Stark mutters to himself, and curls back up into a ball, eyes fluttering closed once more. Grimmjow doesn't need him; if Ulquiorra and Halibel needed assistance, they'd have let him know (probably with a sharp kick to the head, he thinks to himself ruefully.)

Can't be anything real important or interesting about to happen, Stark assumes, as he drifts back into the dream he was having before of large purple elephants juggling watermelons.

…Right?

**To Be C****ontinued…**

I've got "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO stuck in my head on constant repeat, lol, and there's not a thing I can do about it. Oh, well. Again, thank you so much for sticking with me, and I promise the next update won't take nearly as long as this one did.

Thank you so much for reading!

—Rebel


	4. Author's Note Important

Hey, guys—PLEASE READ. This is extremely important.

I don't/wouldn't normally do this, but as it potentially threatens me as a fanfiction writer, and you guys as readers and writers yourselves, I thought I'd give it a shot.

I can't post the link in for some reason, so I'm asking you to Google "Stop Censorship"-it'll be the first or second link, regarding a bill called SOPA.

SOPA is a current bill in Congress, also known as S.968, which would enable the Justice Department to take down ANY website that THEY THINK infringes on "copyright activities." Not only that, but the people on that site who are supposedly "infringing" could have legal action taken against them.

**The sites that they can take down range from search engines—freaking Google?—to social networking sites like Facebook, along with plenty of others, like YouTube and . And those are just a FEW.**

This is really important to me. NO PRESSURE. You don't have to do this, and if you feel that my asking you to fight against this bill is offensive, then I'm extremely sorry. I just thought I'd take a chance.

They're thinking of voting on the bill possibly THIS WEEK, so I wanted to get this message out there. If the Internet's still free/uncensored in another week, **I will celebrate and post new chapters, new stories, take requests—the works. Whatever you guys want.**

Thank you so much for reading, and for your help.

Cheers,

-Rebel


	5. Chapter 4

Sigh. Aimed to update Tuesday, ended up posting Wednesday instead. I'm very sorry to the people I (optimistically, in retrospect) told I was gonna try and update Tuesday, but thank you all, again, for sticking with me.

This chapter is a _little_ different, but I hope you guys like it anyway!

Chapter Four:

Renji has endured plenty of humiliation at the expense of being Rukia's so-called best friend. Comes with the territory—occupational hazard, as it were, the same way joining the 11th squad requires you to (literally) sign your own death warrant, or how anyone from Inuzuri will tell you that if you try stealing from Watanabe the butcher, odds are good you'll end up losing your left hand. There have certainly been times in the past where Renji has seriously considered freeing himself from one of the last, legal forms of slavery in the world—the promise of being "best friends forever." But, in true loyal fashion, he's ended up dragging himself back to her side; it was worth it, he'd always concluded.

_This_ time, however, might very well be the final straw.

"I hate you," Renji informs Rukia fiercely as she finishes applying fucking _guyliner_ around his eyes, to which she merely smiles innocently and steps back to admire her handiwork.

"You're done!" she proclaims, apparently satisfied by the overall effect. Renji fights his burning desire to leap at her with a deranged howl, tackle her to the floor, and throttle her. That would, however, also require moving, which is currently not an option: Renji's been crammed into a t-shirt so tight, he can feel his circulation being cut off, along with a ridiculous pair of skinny-jeans that are causing him some serious concern about any long-term damage to his manhood. Not to mention his face is plastered with idiotic make-up, his usually wild hair tamed by gel. The intent is to make him look…well, gay—and doing a disturbingly good job, Renji thinks furiously as Rukia beams at him.

"Don't you think you're stereotyping a bit?" he snaps. Rukia shrugs.

"No. I did research!"

"With what, yaoi manga?" he retorts. He's having a difficult time blinking too—his eyelashes keep getting stuck together because of the mascara. How women do this, he'll never know.

"Quit whining," Rangiku admonishes him from across the room, as she works on Ishida—looking equally as unhappy as Renji—and his own make-up and outfit. "You only have to dress like this for awhile. Just long enough to let Ichigo know that he can be comfortable with his sexuality!"  
"How, by looking like an insane clown?" Renji growls, and receives a smack on his overly-styled head, courtesy of Rukia.

The plan (assuming that you can even call this a plan, Renji muses darkly) is to ambush Ichigo the moment he returns from Seireitei, presenting him with both Renji and Ishida as "models" of men who are perfectly comfortable with being openly gay. That way, according to Rangiku, Ichigo will then drop to his knees and weep in relief at finally feeling safe to come out of the closet, set off to find some man who'll screw him and love him, truly, madly, deeply, happily ever after and all that bullshit.

"This isn't going to work," Renji mutters to himself, as no one else seems to care much about what he thinks. "This is the dumbest plan yet. And why am _I_ the gay one?"

"Cuz you _are_," Ikkaku replies with a snort, sprawled on Orihime's couch. Yumichika has made a temporary recovery from the depths of his depression, enough to join in with Rangiku and Rukia as they finish putting the final touches on a thoroughly defeated Ishida. Chad and Orihime for their parts remain huddled in chairs on the opposite side of the room. Chad seems especially on edge, as if afraid at any moment, Rangiku and her cohorts will remember that he, too, is male and subject him to the same torment as Renji and Ishida.

"I am _not!"_ Renji protests (not…_entirely_ lying through his teeth) and slams his fist down on the arm of his chair.

"Neither am I!" Ishida complains, somewhat muffled as Yumichika slops on lip gloss.

"Yeah, but with you at least it kind of makes sense!" Renji shoots back, sending Ishida into a fit of spluttering disbelief.

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Just that you, ya know, seem like the type!" Renji argues.

"It doesn't matter!" Rukia interrupts, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "It's not even for real!" She heaves a sigh and then collapses into the chair beside Renji's, the two of them watching for a moment, as Ishida fights a losing battle against Yumichika's attempts to force several sparkly pink barrettes into his hair.

"This is stupid, Rukia," he says at length. "You know it is. I thought you didn't even like Rangiku's plans." He's wheedling—trying desperately to appeal to that sensible side of her that he knows exists, somewhere deep…_deep_ down inside.

Rukia smiles wearily and runs her fingers through her hair.

"I don't. Know if it'll work, like her plans, both, whatever. But…" She tugs idly at the skirt of her school uniform, smoothing out the pleats. "I want to help him, Renji," she continues, in a much softer voice. "I just feel like…Ichigo's been alone for so long. I want him to be happy for once. So I'll do whatever I can." She gives Renji another once-over, and a feeble smile. "Even if that maybe means at your expense."

"Gee, how noble of you," Renji remarks wryly, even though he can already feel himself softening at Rukia's concern. Why is it so freaking impossible to stay mad at her, no matter how badly he wants to? And…though he'll deny it under pain of death, Renji does have…_somewhat_ of a soft spot for Ichigo. He likes the guy; likes that at the end of the day, no matter how much they've bickered, or how bad the fight's gone, Ichigo will be always be there with that fierce, determined grin, his crazy hair covered in blood and an arm slung around Renji's shoulders as they trudge home.

For all the sacrifices that Ichigo makes, Renji can sure as hell try and reciprocate for once.

"Abarai-kun!" Yumichika crows, and holds up perhaps the most frightening shoes Renji has ever laid eyes on, a Bedazzled pair of platform sandals dug up from the depths of Orihime's closet. "I found the perfect shoes to complete your outfit!"

Even if it means dressing up as a demented drag queen.

* * *

"—have half a mind to report you to Captain Yamamoto! In all my years, I've never seen such despicable behavior! I should—" Ukitake's rant is momentarily interrupted by a brief coughing fit, but not entirely derailed, as he continues to jab his sword violently in turn at Kenpachi, Kyouraku, and Kurotsuchi. "—slice you into pieces, make you—"

Another coughing fit overwhelms him, and Ukitake doubles over, threat lost amidst loud, uncontrollable hacking. He'd followed Kenpachi into the material world after finally managing to subdue the chaos in the 12th Division's lab—not to mention Kurotsuchi himself, spitting mad at being defeated by Zaraki—with some minor assistance from Kyouraku. Ukitake had (rather foolishly, he'll bitterly admit), been hoping to intercept Kenpachi before he made contact with Ichigo; by the time he'd set foot in the material world, however, Ichigo was long gone and Kenpachi sprawled out in a cluster of storm clouds, irritably tending to wounds he'd received from "some fucking, blue-haired bastard" (his words.)

He coughs again, his vision temporarily blurring at the edges, and Ukitake can sense the concerned pulse of Kyouraku's reiatsu, an instant before there's a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, however, glaring up at his supposed "best friend."

"You, at least, ought to know better, Shunsui," he growls, politeness be damned, and forces himself to stand up straight again. "And all three of you should be ashamed, terrorizing a young boy!"

"_I'm_ merely trying to conduct an experiment!" Kurotsuchi retorts, unfazed by Ukitake's tirade, as he examines his long fingernails. His haori is shredded from his earlier fight with Kenpachi, whom he keeps shooting filthy, sidelong glares, and he generally seems to be in a fouler mood than usual. "Forgive me, for working in the name of science!"

"Bullshit," Kenpachi snarls under his breath from his cloud patch. Ukitake, though not typically prone to violence, finds himself fighting the strong temptation to ram his sword through Kenpachi's damn, spiked head, as Kurotsuchi's eye twitches and he turns toward Zaraki in a burst of new rage.

"I beg your pardon?" Kurotsuchi demands, through gritted teeth. Kenpachi only snorts with disgust and lurches to his feet, licking carelessly at a long, still-bleeding cut along the back of his hand.

"This is bullshit!" he says again, and swings his sword irritably, forcing Kyouraku and a seething Kurotsuchi to duck, in order to avoid being cut in half. "I keep getting close, only for someone else to get in the way! _You—_" he growls, nodding toward Kurotsuchi, "—or that fucking Espada, and now—" he rounds on Ukitake, who holds his ground, calmly "—_you_. I nearly had him!"

"You can give up on whatever interest you have in Ichigo-kun," Ukitake replies testily. "I won't allow any of you to go chasing him, fighting over his virginity. What we _are_ going to do is find him, formally apologize, and then return to Soul Society, leaving him in peace."

Kenpachi, however, only gives an ugly, taunting smirk.

"Or _what?"_ he demands, his voice unusually soft and wicked. Beside him, Ukitake feels Kyouraku bristle, and has to momentarily remind himself that he's supposed to be pissed off at Shunsui still. He meets Kenpachi's grin with the most polite smile in his repertoire, and tilts his head a little to one side.

"Or I shall have to inform Captain Unohana of the dishonorable way in which you three have been conducting yourselves," he says, and then watches with immense satisfaction as Kenpachi's smug expression vanishes in mere seconds. "Can you imagine," he continues cheerfully, turning to face Kurotsuchi and Kyouraku who have both gone still, their faces a rather sickly shade of gray, "what she might say—what she might _do_—if she ever heard how deeply you've embarrassed Captain Yamamoto and the Gotei 13?"

There's a brief, uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Kenpachi mutters gruffly (God, Ukitake can't help marveling, but it's good to see _him_ be intimidated for once) and kicks at another patch of cloud, "we might want to find Ichigo as soon as possible, then."

"Why?"

"That Espada bastard I was talking about? He's after Ichigo, for the same reason I was," Kenpachi informs them, and then adds grimly, "I don't think he's alone, either."

"There's more than one Espada in the material world?" Kyouraku repeats, eyes widening a little. "Why haven't Captain Hitsugaya and his men intercepted them yet?"

Ukitake bites at his lower lip, gazing out over the sprawl of Karakura Town. "I'm not sure," he says, reaching out with his mind for any trace of reiatsu, hollow and shinigami alike. "But we'd better get to the bottom of this, and fast."

For Ichigo's sake.

* * *

"Fucking asshole," Grimmjow mutters idly to no one in particular, and spits a mouthful of blood off the side of the office building where he's perched; regrouping, re-calculating, after finally managing to break away from his battle with Zaraki Kenpachi (AKA, said "fucking asshole.")

He's not really all that pissed at the moment as he is frustrated. Partly because of his wounds—a shallow cut across the chest, a slash on the arm, a molar that Kenpachi knocked loose—but more so because his temporary distraction caused Grimmjow to lose track of his prey, and he's eager to renew the chase. Especially because this time, it isn't simply the thrill of battle that Grimmjow's looking forward to, the vicious insults that Ichigo spits at him, the clash of steel as their swords meet. It's what lies _after_ that has Grimmjow anxious, has him licking his lips over and over, unable to get the taste of Ichigo's skin out of his mouth: sweat, and soap, and innocence.

It was fucking intoxicating, feeling Ichigo tremble against Grimmjow in fear and undeniable arousal—two things Grimmjow never thought he would see in Kurosaki Ichigo; but now that he has, he wants to see (_make_) it happen again and again. Wants to pin Ichigo on his back and rip his clothes off with his teeth; to put that smart-ass mouth to _far_ better use; to make Ichigo scream in a whole new kind of way.

The very thought soothes any lingering rage left over from his previous battle, and Grimmjow lets out a slow breath, running the tips of his fingers lovingly along the edge of Pantera's blade. He never thought he'd believe it, but for the first time, he's found a better weapon than his fists, or the slash of his sword. Sex is a fascinating tool—so many more ways to leave Kurosaki in agony, to torture him, exciting and denying, terrifying him all at once. Can't believe he didn't try it sooner; not that he hasn't been thinking about it long before Ichigo's embarrassing little secret slipped out. Not that he didn't notice Kurosaki's incredible legs, or his neck—long and smooth, perfect for sinking his teeth into—or that the kid is just plain fucking hot, and doesn't seem to have the slightest clue.

All he needs is a chance to get his hands on the kid one more time, to get Ichigo all to himself, without any chance of being interrupted by fucking Zaraki, or any of his idiot friends. And then Grimmjow can _really_ have some fun.

Reiatsu flickers at the corner of his consciousness, and Grimmjow's head jerks in the direction from which it's flowing: dense, and powerful, an ever-lurking darkness at its edges, fluctuating erratically—and headed in his direction.

Grimmjow smiles and gets to his feet, sliding Pantera back into its sheath, the blood in his ears roaring with anticipation. Yes, he thinks gleefully, and launches himself off the edge of the building, the memory of Ichigo's flushed and frightened face burned into his memory: sex is such a wonderful weapon _indeed._

Unfortunately for Grimmjow, he isn't the only one to have reached such a conclusion.

* * *

Aizen is initially more than a little displeased (to say the least) at the early return of Halibel from her trip to the material world, an unconscious Stark in tow and lacking the presence of both Grimmjow and Ulquiorra.

"I will advise you," he remarks in a dangerously pleasant tone, one eyebrow raised and resisting the desire to drum his fingers on the arm of his throne as Halibel approaches with her head bowed, "to make the explanation you are about to give especially good."

Halibel, however, doesn't so much as flinch at the blatant warning; if anything, her eyes are alight with uncharacteristic glee as she takes a knee before him, Stark curled up in a drooling puddle at her side.

"Aizen-sama, I return bearing vital information. Grimmjow has gone rogue and abandoned the mission."

To his left, Tousen stiffens slightly, his hand already jumping to the hilt of his sword, as if Grimmjow is even within cutting range. Aizen gestures leisurely for him to stand down, and nods for Halibel to continue. Hardly surprising news, really, but he has the sense Halibel isn't quite finished yet.

"Ulquiorra has stayed in the material world, to determine Captain Hitsugaya's whereabouts. However, while we were there, we came across another, equally interesting piece of information. Apparently, Kurosaki Ichigo…"

She pauses, in an attempt at dramatic effect, and despite himself, Aizen leans forward, just a little, at the mention of Kurosaki's name. Much as it irks him, Aizen can't help but admit (if only to himself) that the boy, while a recklessly impulsive brat, is still …intriguing. Just when Aizen assumes that he has the boy figured out, Kurosaki still manages to turn around and surprise him. He's an enigma; a particularly amusing puzzle—and Aizen, with the superior intellect he prizes himself on, has always been weak-willed when it comes to puzzles.

"Yes?" he prompts, carefully disguising his eagerness.

"We have recently learned that Kurosaki Ichigo is, in fact, still a virgin."

There's a split second's pause, broken by Gin, who fails to stifle a loud snort of laughter. Aizen casts an amused glance in his direction, but refrains from reprimanding him. Gin is one of the few other things that Aizen happens to be weak-willed about.

"Well," he replies dryly, at length. "That certainly is…enlightening."

"I fail to see what relevancy such information has," Tousen begins, frustrated, mostly likely at the denial of a chance to remove Grimmjow's arm permanently this time.

"Oh?" Gin asks pleasantly, his usual, eerie smile widening further when Aizen exchanges a wry smirk with him. "I disagree."

"As do I," Aizen says, much to Tousen's further disgruntlement.

"If you desire, Aizen-sama," Halibel offers politely, sensing success as she rises to her feet, "I could return to the material world, alongside Ulquiorra. Together, we will both engage Captain Hitsugaya in battle, and bring Kurosaki back to Las Noches for your…" Halibel's eyes glitter. "…discretion."

"Actually, my dear Halibel," he says, settling himself back into his throne with a thin smile, "I don't believe that will be necessary. You may return to your quarters. I shall await Ulquiorra and Grimmjow's return."

The line of Halibel's shoulders stiffens ever so slightly, indicating plainly that this is not the reaction she had hoped for. She merely nods, however, and rises to her feet, shuffling out of the throne room. The minute the doors close behind her, Tousen lets out a light, yet distinctly disapproving cough.

"Aizen-sama," he begins, "I don't understand why we should be so concerned about Kurosaki Ichigo's…" He falters, gesturing awkwardly. "Well, his…sexual activity. It has no effect on the outcome of our—your," he corrects himself immediately as Aizen's eyes narrow "—plans."

"No, it doesn't," Aizen admits lightly. Tousen's brow furrows in open frustration; Gin, however, is still watching Aizen with a wide smirk. Gin always was one of the few people who could read him, Aizen thinks fondly, as he gets to his feet and excuses himself without further explanation. Outside, the desert winds stir the mountains of sand, and Aizen gazes at the desolate scenery, strolling through the white corridors of Las Noches at a leisurely pace; turning Halibel's words over and over again in his head.

Kurosaki Ichigo. A virgin. Well. Aizen can hardly say he's surprised. The boy is only fifteen years old, after all. Besides, what with constantly having to protect the world from various evil plots (mostly Aizen's, as a matter of fact), it's not like there would be much time for dating, much less any kind of sex life.

And yet…the idea of Kurosaki, so stubborn and vicious when he fights, being defeated by something as simple as sex creates an unusual sense of satisfaction in Aizen that he can't quite explain. That no matter Kurosaki's accomplishments, his victories, no matter how desperately he strives to prove his strength, he'll still come apart, quivering and flushed, beneath the simplest of touches.

It's an appealing thought, and Aizen finds himself smirking, one long finger tracing his lips, curious to explore the full range of damage he can wreak with his newest weapon. He always did prefer psychological warfare over the brutality of combat; always found it more pleasing, pushing his enemies to their breaking point, picking up the pieces afterward for careful examination.

Perhaps, Aizen muses, and his smirk widens to a full, cruel grin—the first time he's openly smiled in years—he should take a trip to the material world. And then he'll see for himself, just how far Kurosaki Ichigo can be pushed.

* * *

Hitsugaya lets out a long, contented sigh and stretches out a little more along the roof of Kurosaki's high school, arms behind his head and watching with lazy interest as the clouds shift overhead. He's always considered it ironic, how much the living children complain constantly about school, how quickly they flee as soon as the bell rings for the end of the day; and yet, in spite of his young appearance, and the fact that he's being forced to endure unending humiliation, posing as a student… Hitsugaya finds he rather enjoys high school. It reminds him of his days in the Academy, the structured schedules and orderly conduct demanded by his teachers oddly soothing—mostly because he knows he'll never achieve that kind of order and discipline within his own squad, he reflects irritably, and shifts into a more comfortable position.

Damn Matsumoto.

It doesn't hurt, either, that Karakura's high school is the only place he can now find peace of mind, ever since Orihime's apartment became Rangiku's domain—a sign from God for Hitsugaya to run for his fucking life, lest he be roped into yet another one of her insane schemes. The last time he was forced into one of her "plans", it took him a week to get the smell of watermelon out of his hair, and another three before he found and destroyed the last of the pink hair ribbons she had stashed away in order to ambush him with. And he _still_ hasn't entirely lived down the nickname, "Pretty Pink Princess" amongst the other captains of Soul Society.

_Damn_ Matsumoto, he thinks with a shudder of horror, and closes his eyes, willing his mind to go blank again.

He's not sure how long he dozes for, though when he opens his eyes again, the sun has moved lower in the sky, and his stomach is growling. He'll have to head back to Orihime's apartment, at least to grab a little money, he decides as he gets slowly to his feet. He's pretty sure he can't take another night eating Orihime's cooking; if he has to choke down one more donut covered in sauerkraut and natto, he's going to—

He's taken maybe three steps when a veritable _shit-ton_ of reiatsu comes slamming down on top of him, giving Hitsugaya no chance to brace himself before he's knocked on his ass. It takes him several minutes of straining and shoving with own reiatsu before he can push back against the spiritual energy pinning him to the roof. His mind is racing as he sits bolt upright, searching to get a grip on the different pulses of reiatsu bombarding him from every possible direction. He catches traces of Kurosaki—of the Gotei 13—of freaking _Espada_, he realizes with a thrill of terror, wondering at how long he's been passed out for—and of course, bearing down on it all, the same reiatsu that's been an eternal source of migraines and humiliations since he first came into contact with it.

"_Damn Matsumoto,_" he snarls and, bursting free from his gigai, launches himself off the roof and speeds towards the center of the brewing chaos.

* * *

He knows the others are already there, the instant he touches down in front of Orihime's apartment building, but by this point, Ichigo's had enough time to pull himself together after his encounters with Kenpachi and Grimmjow, gathering his resolve. He's not putting up with any more shit, he decides, as he stalks up the flight of stairs that lead to Orihime's front door. He's going to march right in there, and demand Rukia to come with him, and the hell with everybody else. They'll probably be too stunned to react (including Rukia herself)—if he's lucky.

"Inoue? Are you there?" he calls out, and raps three times on her front door; he shuffles a little as he waits for her to answer, flexing his fingers absently and wishing he hadn't hurled Zangetsu at Kenpachi, now that he's currently put himself in the way of another potential (and disturbingly likely) ambush.

The door flies open abruptly for about half a second—Ichigo stumbles backward, just barely avoiding being smacked in the face—and Orihime blinks owlishly at him, then squeaks in terrified recognition, and promptly slams it shut again.

Ichigo barely has any time to register what just happened before the door bursts open again, and Orihime appears once again, her face strained in a hideous attempt at a casual smile.

"Kurosaki-kun!" she cries shrilly, and gives a high-pitched laugh that borders on the vaguely hysterical, causing Ichigo to raise an eyebrow in bewilderment. "Oh, Kurosaki-kun, we've been expecting you!"

_I'll bet they have_, Ichigo thinks darkly, and steels his resolve once again, despite the uncomfortably anxious way that Orihime is now staring at him. "I'm here for Ru—"

In all honesty, he shouldn't be so surprised at the multiple pairs of hands that fly out of nowhere from the darkness of the apartment and grab at him, though it doesn't stop him from screaming like some dumbass chick in a horror movie as he's dragged inside, and the door locks behind him.

"What the hell is—?" he snaps, which is about as far as he gets before the lights flick on, whereupon his voice, and general brain function, die.

Renji and Ishida are standing at the center of the room, back to back, and striking some kind of ridiculous pose, like they're characters out of a—a freaking magical girl show or something. They _look_ like girls, at least, dressed in clothes so tight Ichigo's not entirely sure how they're still breathing, their hair glued into ridiculous styles with gel, faces caked with makeup.

"Ta-da!" Rangiku shouts triumphantly, leaping from the shadows and posing in an equally ridiculous fashion, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "What do you think, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo's not entirely certain whether he wants to scream, or die of laughter, or break down sobbing. He settles for a vaguely disturbed, wheezing moan. This is, apparently, not the reaction Rangiku had been counting on.

"You don't like it?" she demands, put-out.

Ichigo still hasn't quite processed what it is he's supposed to be looking at; Rangiku seems to guess as much, because she whirls around and points imperiously at Renji and Ishida, who seem to shrivel somewhat under her gaze.

"We were trying to show you that it's all right," Ishida begins tonelessly, as if reciting lines, and makes an attempt at a smile that comes off more as a helpless leer.

"We wanted to let you know," Renji continues, and proves that there is indeed a script composed for this moment, when he has to glance down at the notes on his palm about what to say next, "that there are all kinds of men."

"And that we accept you for exactly who you are, and whoever you want to be," Ishida completes wearily, gesturing at his clothing as if to indicate this is the kind of person Ichigo might become in the near future.

"Do you see?" Rangiku butts in, looking excited again.

It's a slow realization that emerges, under Rangiku's steady, eager watch, and from Chad, Rukia, Orihime, Yumichika, and Ikkaku as they scuffle into view, all beaming hopefully at him; an understanding that finally clicks into place for Ichigo with a swirl of nauseous heat in the pit of his stomach.

"You mean," he begins, voice quavering, and even he's not entirely sure whether it's out of anger or fear, "you guys…know? About me being…gay?"

Rangiku nods slowly, as his friends' smiles begin to fade rapidly, with the realization that their plan has veered in a horrendously wrong direction.

"And you just—you thought—?" Ichigo's voice catches in his throat for a moment, and he can hardly breathe, much less think straight, as a million complicated thoughts and emotions hit him all at once, bursts of rage, and of panic, and confusion. "You thought you could make me feel all better about it, with—with this _shit?"_ he snarls. He doesn't intend for it to come out so harshly, but though he feels a slight flicker of guilt at the way Orihime flinches, it's quickly buried beneath another wave of anger.

"First I had to put up with all that virginity crap and now—now _this?"_

"Ichigo," Rukia begins, eyes wide and apologetic. "I'm sorry. We're sorry, we just wanted—"

"Why can't any of you just leave me alone?" he shouts. And that's it. He's had it, he's done playing along, and tolerating this—he's _done._ Forget his plans, forget Rukia; he's going to do what he should have done when this first started, which is lock himself in his closet—like the faggot that I am, he thinks fiercely, fighting against an unusual lump in his throat, and spins on his heel, storming toward the door.

"Ichigo," Rukia says, devastated, sounding as if she's about to follow.

Right before the roof caves in around them. Literally.

"Found you."

Grimmjow is perched at the edge of the gaping hole he created in the ceiling. His gaze is fixed on Ichigo, possessive as it trails with wicked intent over his body, and he licks at his lips with predatory glee—right before he dives, sudden and purposeful. Ichigo barely has the time to react, his fist snapping out in automatic defense, and catching Grimmjow in the jaw, sending him reeling backward through another wall. Somewhere behind Ichigo, Orihime lets out a series of alarmed squeaks at the damage to her apartment.

"Playing hard to get, huh?" Grimmjow asks, unfazed as he picks himself up off the floor. His smirk hasn't wavered in the slightest, and Ichigo's upper lip curls in a snarl of fury. He meant it with his friends, and he means it all the more with Grimmjow—he's had _enough_ of all this bullshit, and there's no way in hell he's letting anyone try and take advantage of him again. He's not armed, which he absolutely hates—he feels weirdly vulnerable without the familiar, comforting weight of Zangetsu strapped to his back—but at this point, he doesn't care if he has to beat Grimmjow's ass with his bare hands to make him back off.

"Bring it," Ichigo spits, fists raised.

Grimmjow dives for him, little more than a blur of white and blue, and Ichigo sinks into a fighting stance, bracing himself. This proves to be unnecessary, however, as a faint, high-pitched whine comes from above, right before a bright green cero pierces the roof, shattering the ceiling, and scorching Orihime's carpet. Grimmjow skids to a stop, as does Ichigo, both of them staring up in bewilderment; Ulquiorra saunters his way into view, glowering down at the both of them in disapproving contempt.

"Grimmjow," he says, voice tight with that ever-present strain of annoyance whenever he's forced to speak with Grimmjow, "I am here to take you back to Aizen-sama, for blatantly disobeying your orders. And you…" His cool, green eyes turns on Ichigo specifically, who flinches in spite of himself at the unspoken threat in that gaze. Given the pattern that this Shittiest of Shitty Days has taken, Ichigo has a very bad feeling that he knows exactly what Ulquiorra wants from him.

"Go fuck yourself," Grimmjow retorts eloquently, and sends a cero of his own rocketing back up toward Ulquiorra, simultaneously destroying the section of Orihime's roof that was still intact after the first blast. Ulquiorra dodges it easily and swoops down, his sword drawn and meeting Grimmjow's in a clash of steel.

"Arrancar bastards!" Ikkaku cackles, pleased at the chance to fight regardless of the reason why, and bursts from his gigai, hurling himself into the fight as well, the others following closely behind with battle cries of their own.

"Leave Ichigo alone!"

"Go back to Hueco Mundo where you belong!"

"Please, get out of my house?" Orihime yelps, scurrying to rescue her brother's shrine, even as the rest of the apartment crumbles around them. Ichigo, however, does his best to duck and weave between the clanging swords, in order to flee once more, and finally manages to pull himself free from the brawl. He surges up into the air, eager to take off, but he's stopped short by a hand around his ankle.

Grimmjow leers up at him, teeth bared in a gleeful smirk.

"C'mon, Kurosaki," he mock-purrs, and yanks sharply, dragging Ichigo back down towards him. "I promise I'll go _slow."_

Ichigo responds to that one by lashing out with his free foot, his heel driving down into Grimmjow's face again and again, until the grip on his ankle loosens and then releases him entirely. Grimmjow tumbles back into the fight below with an agonized snarl, and Ichigo hurries upward, eager to put as much distance between himself and the warzone that Orihime's apartment has become.

"Oi, Kurosaki-kun!"

Fucking A.

Ichigo turns warily toward the voice, and then fumbles to catch Zangetsu, as it's tossed at him. He's startled to see Ukitake once more, though significantly less thrilled to see Kyouraku, Kurotsuchi, and Zaraki trailing after him, their small party headed directly for the apartment. People in the street are beginning to stare by this point, the other residents in the building cowering for safety as they watch Orihime's apartment be inexplicably torn apart.

"I'm so sorry about all this," Ukitake remarks when he's close enough, his sword in hand as he frowns down at the battle. "We sensed the Arrancars' presence, but we were a bit delayed in getting here." He straightens up a little, eyes glittering with noble purpose, one hand patting Ichigo comfortingly on the shoulder. "Allow us to take care of this disaster," he begs. "It's the least we can do, to make up for what you've been put through." He doesn't wait for Ichigo's bemused assent, but descends rapidly into the fray, reiatsu pulsing with a frustration to rival Ichigo's own. He's followed by Kyouraku, who offers nothing more than a sly wink, and then Kurotsuchi, who spares Ichigo one of his customary leers. Zaraki is the last one. He pauses long enough to lick his lips, and grin at Ichigo in a way that is probably meant to be seductive, but just twists his face in an expression far more demented than usual.

"We'll finish what we started later, eh?"

"The hell we will, asshole," Ichigo growls under his breath as he watches Zaraki plunge into the fight with his usual frenzied glee. He turns sharply on his heel, ready to bolt before someone below notices he's missing and comes after him again—and instead slams straight into something solid and warm. For a second, he's bewildered, right before a sickeningly familiar reiatsu drops on him like fifty tons, smothering him in a nauseous haze. Ichigo stumbles backwards, but there's a hand wrapped around his wrist like a steel band, holding him still—holding him trapped.

"Good afternoon, Kurosaki Ichigo," Aizen Sousuke says, mockingly pleasant, and a stab of icy fear cuts deep through the pit of Ichigo's stomach.

"What—?" he asks stupidly; his body reacts on instinct, his free hand darting to grasp at Zangetsu's hilt, but Aizen seizes that one as well, his fingers cold and biting into Ichigo's skin, into the bones of his wrist.

"I heard about your little problem," he remarks, completely casual, and Ichigo feels as though he's going to be sick, even as a small part of him goes utterly berserk, unable to believe that even fucking _Aizen's_ after him. Unlike the others, though, Aizen doesn't show any indication of attacking him, just hovers there, his reiatsu bearing down to the point where Ichigo swears he can feel his knees creak under the pressure. They've got to feel Aizen's presence below, and soon they'll be up here to help—or at least, that's what Ichigo feebly tries to convince himself of. Deep down, though, he's acutely aware of how isolated they are, so high up. Just the two of us, he thinks, and the need to throw up grows stronger still.

"Are you afraid of me, Kurosaki?" Aizen purrs, fingers idly brushing the insides of Ichigo's wrist—though his grip tightens immediately again when Ichigo tries to pull free.

"No," Ichigo spits back, more from stubborn spite than a place of real truth. Aizen seems to realize this, because his usual, faint smirk widens a little more.

"Even though you know what I intend to do to you?"

"I'd like to see you try," Ichigo retorts fiercely, and then struggles and fails to fight back a cringe when Aizen's thumbs begin to move in slow circles, pressing against the sensitive skin on the insides of his wrists once more.

"Fascinating, I must admit," Aizen continues in a gentle croon, ignoring Ichigo's words, those dark, narrow eyes trailing down along Ichigo's body—like Grimmjow's had earlier. But there is no heat, no glimmer of anticipation in his gaze, just cold, detachment. "You pretend to be _so_ strong, and yet…you unravel at the slightest touch."

A sudden yank on Ichigo's wrists drags them closer together, and Ichigo struggles uselessly to free himself; he can't help the way he's begun to shake, in spite of his resolve, at Aizen's proximity, the dangerous smile curling along those thin lips, the cruel, prying interest in that awful gaze.

"You're just a novelty, really," Aizen murmurs softly, in direct counterpoint to his bruising grip. "A prize. Once someone _fucks—"_ he spits the word with surprising sharpness; Ichigo can't help but flinch, as if it's Aizen's sword cutting into him, rather than just his words, "—you, your appeal is gone. No one here actually wants you. And do you want to know why, Ichigo?"

The use of his given name sends a jolt through him, though it's nothing compared to his panic when Aizen pulls him in the rest of the way, until their bodies are flush against one another, and they're frightening close, faces only inches apart. There's nothing intimate about it, though, and Ichigo's brain short-circuits with terror. He can't get free, at Aizen's mercy between his unrelenting grip and the insistent, pounding reiatsu that bears down on him with nearly unbearable weight, and he's numb with dread at what's going to happen to him, that he's going to be hurt in ways he's afraid to imagine.

"Because, Ichigo," Aizen whispers, directly in his ear, his horrible voice inescapable, his breath hot against Ichigo's neck, "all you really are is an ugly, frightened, pathetic little boy pretending to be something you're not."

Ichigo has never been good at fighting with words, and he wishes that it was the edge of a sword, the sharp blow of a fist that hits him, instead of Aizen's icy voice, the insinuating logic that he tangles Ichigo up in. The words feel like a slap across the face, and Aizen smiles, leaning in.

"Why don't you just give in, Ichigo?" he murmurs.

It's an effort to lift his head—to move at all, under Aizen's reiatsu—but Ichigo forces himself to look up, to meet that dark, wicked gaze head-on, his own eyes narrowed in fiercely determined spite.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" he shoots back. Aizen's handsome face crumbles into an ugly, vicious expression; before he can react, however, Ichigo's already moving, his right knee snapping up, driving directly into Aizen's groin. There's a low grunt of shock and mostly—Ichigo's savagely happy to note—pain as Aizen crumples and releases his grip on Ichigo's wrists. His reiatsu seems to recoil along with him, and Ichigo seizes the opportunity, kicking Aizen in the head and knocking him sideways. He doesn't have the opportunity to gloat, distracted by the shout of alarm that comes from below; Kyouraku and Ukitake are hurtling up meet him, looking panicked.

Took them long enough, Ichigo thinks furiously, and takes off without bothering to wait for them, desperate to get away—though unable to stop the way his hands are still shaking, the deep, pulsing hurt left behind by Aizen's bruising grip.

* * *

Ichigo is already long gone by the time that Ukitake draws level with Aizen; there's a small part of him that's startled by the surge of unexpected anger coursing through him, but his hands are tight on the hilt of his sword nevertheless, and he's grateful for Shunsui's presence, and the equal rage he can feel radiating off of him as well.

Aizen manages to struggle to his feet and regain some measure of composure—even pushes past his obvious pain to offer one of his characteristic smirks, an eyebrow cocked in arrogant cruelty.

"And just what were you trying to pull, Aizen?" Shunsui asks coldly, and though Aizen merely laughs, wicked and smug, it's answer enough. Ukitake raises his sword, assuming a fighting stance, as Shunsui does the same. Aizen seems amused, but he does the same, his own blade drawn, the air around them suddenly fraught with tension, in anticipation of the fight—

"KUROSAKI!"

The rush of frantic reiatsu is their only warning, before Rangiku comes flying up between the three of them, smacking Aizen aside with a well-placed backhand and eliciting another grunt of pain as he goes flying. Her hair is a tangled wreck, her breasts half-hanging out of her torn shihakusho, and her eyes glint with maniacal determination, scanning their surroundings.

"Where did he go?" she hollers, whirling about, and Ukitake blinks, dumbfounded by the unexpected turn of events. Rangiku bares her teeth at them in a deranged sort of way that's probably meant to be threatening, growling low in her throat, and Shunsui points nervously in the direction that Ichigo went running.

"Damn that stupid kid!" she snaps, letting out a howl of frustration as she turns in the direction that Shunsui indicated.

"What is the meaning of—MATSUMOTO!" Ukitake glances below, at where Hitsugaya has just appeared; he's temporarily stopped short, out of pure horror, distracted by the fight still raging amongst the remains of Orihime's apartment; Rangiku seizes the opportunity and immediately takes off, which gets Hitsugaya's attention. He tears his gaze away from the wreckage, face contorted in disbelieving rage.

"Oh, no you don't! Not this time!" he shouts, and takes off after Rangiku in hot pursuit.

"Wait for me!" Shunsui cries eagerly. Ukitake makes a rather useless grab to stop him; his fingers only grasp air, however, as Kyouraku shun-pos away, chasing after the two of them.

"No!" Ukitake yells wearily, even as Kyouraku becomes little more than a pink dot in the distance. "Shunsui, don't! I said—"

"If he's not obeying your orders about Kurosaki," Kurotsuchi cuts in, having crept up behind Ukitake in the confusion, and looking far too delighted at the turn of events, as far as Ukitake's concerned, "then neither am I!"

"Not if I do first!" Zaraki snarls, right on Kurotsuchi's tail, sword drawn, and they run off, still clawing and gesturing threateningly at one another. Grimmjow shoots up into the air a split second later, hair sticking up at odd angles and practically foaming at the mouth. Ukitake takes a nervous step back.

"You fucking asshole, he's mine!" he roars at Zaraki's retreating back, and hurtles off.

"Get back here!" And that's Ulquiorra, who appears to be clinging to the last shred of his patience, from the way his right eye is twitching with dangerous frequency, his hands bright with an incoming cero. "Grimmjow!—Hello, Aizen-sama," he says in a polite aside to Aizen, who's still crumpled in the fetal position and grasping at his shattered nose, eyes wide with bewilderment, "I am nearly done with my mission. You fool!" he cries, and hurries after Grimmjow.

"Wait! Ichigo!" Rukia pleads, and races right past Ukitake without a second glance, completely oblivious to the presence of her bemused captain. "Wait, please, I can help!"

"Help us first!" Renji snarls, on her heels and with Ishida in tow, both of them inexplicably wearing perhaps the most appalling make-up Ukitake has ever seen, along with what appears to be a twelve year old girl's t-shirt and jeans two sizes too small on Ishida, who can barely run to keep up with Renji's pace.

They're followed, lastly, by Yumichika and Ikkaku, carrying Orihime between them, who's clutching at her brother's photograph, and staring mournfully down at the smoking wreckage of her apartment.

"I hate shun-po. Always ruins my hair," Yumichika remarks despondently to nobody in particular, and heaves a melodramatic sigh, right before the three of them take off after everyone else. In the street below, Chad follows in close pursuit.

Ukitake and Aizen are left standing there in silence, staring blankly after the stampeding crowd.

"I have no idea what just happened," Ukitake says aloud, weakly.

"This isn't…exactly how I expected this to go," Aizen remarks, huddled on his knees, and looking less like an evil overlord, and the dreaded enemy of Soul Society, and more like a petulant five year old.

"I don't feel sorry for you," Ukitake retorts flatly, sparing Aizen a withering glare, before he takes off after the rest of the crowd, fighting against the first traces of a splitting headache, and wondering whether Yamamoto's going to have a stroke when he hears this latest report.

* * *

"So," Yoruichi begins in far-too-innocent a voice, curling her ponytail around one finger and watching him intently, the way a cat does when it's contemplating how best to devour a mouse. Across the table, Urahara glances up from his tea, careful to keep his expression neutral, even though he knows perfectly well there's no fooling her. He's been waiting for her to ask, truth be told, ever since this morning when she walked in on his conversation with Ichigo; since Rangiku stormed out of the Shoten a few hours ago, and things have finally calmed down long enough that she'd have the opportunity to fully interrogate him.

Urahara holds back a sigh and takes a slow sip of tea, bracing himself.

"So what?" he asks, keeping his voice as light and casual as possible.

"How long?" Yoruichi prompts, sitting up a little straighter and grinning. Urahara smiles cheerfully back.

"Forgive me, Yoruichi-san, but you'll have to be more specific. I'm afraid I'm not a mind-reader—"

"How long have you wanted to fuck Ichigo?" she demands, slamming her fist down on the table.

Typical Yoruichi, with all the tact and subtlety of a sledgehammer. Urahara smiles weakly and traces his finger around the rim of his cup, staring into the dark swirl of liquid and tea leaves.

"It's not quite like that," he admits. He won't bother playing games; he doesn't have the energy, and Yoruichi doesn't have the patience—she's never tolerated the bullshit façade he presents to everyone else.

Yoruichi hums and waggles her eyebrows mischievously, unconvinced.

"Yeah, right. _How_ long's it been since you got laid?"

"Yoruichi-san," he begins, exasperated.

"Don't play innocent with me," she fires back, and folds her arms pointedly, as if to deflect any potential arguments he might offer. "I saw the way you were looking at him." She pauses, a devious grin crossing her face. "Not that I blame you. Kid's pretty hot. Plus, you know what they say about red-heads in bed."

"It's not like that," Urahara says again awkwardly, and though he knows perfectly well she's only teasing, her words cause some strange surge of emotion—almost oddly protective in nature—to twist inside his chest.

"Well," Yoruichi relents with a casual shrug, and leans back on her pillow. "I guess not, if he's a virgin. But that's a whole new level of appeal right there, eh, Kis—?"

"It's not like _that!"_ he repeats for a third time, voice tighter than he intends it to be, and for a split second, the temper that he otherwise keeps so firmly in check slips from his control. He recovers instantly, with a well-placed, sheepish grin and a flick of his fan. Yoruichi, however, has fallen silent, watching him with narrowed eyes. All manner of teasing has disappeared from her expression, and she seems oddly serious—which, with Yoruichi, is perhaps even more alarming than when she's messing around.

"Kisuke," she says at length, and he inclines his head so that she can't see his eyes; can't see past the mask to look inside him where, buried beneath a teacher's affectionate pride, a scientist's curiosity, and—yes, he'll admit it—pure, helpless desire, there's…something else that Ichigo never fails to stir up within Urahara. An emotion stronger than anything he's ever felt, and yet so painfully fragile that he's afraid to give a name to it.

"Kisuke," Yoruichi says again, more firmly, and Urahara bites the inside of his mouth and looks up, his expression mild. She doesn't buy it for a second, just grins broadly and leans across the table to punch him in the arm. Hard.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Because you're an idiot," she informs him with immense exasperation, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child. "You like him, yes?"

"…Yes," he admits quietly, his throat temporarily tightening in spite of himself.

"Then prove it!" Yoruichi demands and hits him a second time. "Right now, that kid's out being chased around by God knows how many people—all of them undeserving, all of them interested in only one thing. _Fuck,_ Kisuke!" she hollers suddenly, and smacks him upside the head. _"Man up!_ If you want him, then fight for him!"

Urahara blinks at her, somewhat stupefied, and Yoruichi shakes her head, and shoves at his shoulder, this time far more gentle, before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Go get him," she orders firmly, and rises to her feet, a hand braced on her hip. Urahara stares up at her—and in that moment, feels a quick shudder of reiatsu course through him: dense, dark, pouring out waves of reverberating power.

But all Urahara can think about is the boy behind it; the boy with a will like steel, and flashing brown eyes; with immeasurable compassion and a rare, but absolutely beautiful smile.

Something achingly tender blossoms within him, and he takes the hand up that Yoruichi offers, smiling in determination.

"I'm going to do it," he vows aloud, preparing to take off.

He never gets the chance to, however, as a split second later, who else but Ichigo himself comes flying—literally—through the wall of the Shoten at breakneck speed, slamming into Urahara and sending them both tumbling. For a few good seconds, Urahara knows nothing but a blur of limbs, and the world sliding sideways around him, as he rolls across the floor, before at last they crash into another wall and come to a stop. His head is pounding, and Urahara's terrified that he's temporarily gone blind, until he realizes that it's only because his eyes are still shut. He opens them, and then wonders if perhaps it might have been better to keep them shut, because Ichigo is trembling, and flushed light pink, and straddling his hips like something out of one of Urahara's many fantasies, and he's afraid if he stares much longer he's going to have a heart attack right on the spot.

"Well, that didn't take long," Yoruichi remarks wryly, peering at them through the crater Ichigo left in the wall. Tessai is staring too, eyebrows raised, and Urahara fights back a blush and squirms, until Ichigo gets the hint and scrambles to his feet, bright red.

"Kurosaki-san," Urahara begins, picking himself up and dusting off his haori, secretly trying to regain some semblance of self-control and ignore the way his heart is still pounding wildly. "What are you—?"

His question is a foolish one, answered immediately by the crushing reiatsu that descends on top of the store just then, making even him and Yoruichi stumble a bit under the sudden pressure. Ichigo's blush vanishes instantly, the blood rushing from his face; the pure terror in his expression wrenches at Urahara, and before he's entirely sure of what he's doing, he's taking hold of Ichigo's wrist—notices, oddly enough, how Ichigo flinches when he does so—and pulls him after, the two of them hurrying through the many winding hallways of the Shoten.

"Urahara-san—"

"Don't worry, Kurosaki-san. I have a plan!" Urahara replies, lying through his teeth, and ducks into an empty side-room. He lets go of Ichigo's wrist with one last, reassuring squeeze, then slams the door shut and proceeds to systematically stack every last piece of available furniture in front of it.

"Urahara-san?"

"Don't worry, it'll be all right," he promises, barely glancing at Ichigo as he searches in the vain hope that he's missed one last futon to add to his makeshift barricade. It's not really a plan at all, but given the limited time and their current circumstances, this is the best he can do, he thinks ruefully to himself. He whirls back around toward the door, facing it head-on, and draws Benihime from her hidden sheath, bracing himself.

Except—

"Urahara-san."

Ichigo's voice is soft, and in his ear, and sounds nothing like him at all, which is perhaps what prompts Urahara to turn around, though he immediately stumbles backward in surprise. Ichigo is standing mere inches away, his eyes dark and wide, and strangely miserable.

Urahara doesn't get the chance to ask what's wrong, as Ichigo abruptly closes the space between them, his hands fisting in Urahara's haori and dragging him in, until their mouths are crushed together.

* * *

He doesn't know what he's doing.

In terms of kissing, and Ichigo can't help but wonder with a stab of vicious embarrassment, if it's painfully obvious—even as he presses closer, his tongue swiping clumsily over Urahara's lips. But he can't stop, doesn't back away, only clings tighter and fights against the hands on his shoulders trying weakly to push him off. Urahara manages to twist his head away and break the kiss, gasping. His hat's knocked sideways so that Ichigo can see just how deeply he's blushing, and a burst of satisfaction courses through him.

"I know you like me," he says; tries to smirk in what he hopes is a seductive way, flush against Urahara's body, so warm and strong and firm that Ichigo shudders and rubs himself against the jut of Urahara's hip, desperately trying to work himself into a state of arousal. "I've seen you looking at me. I _know_ you wanna fuck me."

"Jesus, Ichigo—"

"You've thought about it, right?" he insists, and even to his own ears, he sounds pathetic, wheedling, but he won't stop, he _can't _stop—none of will _ever_ stop, until he just fucking gives in like Aizen said. Until he hands himself over, lets himself be changed, and wrecked, and made into something and someone that no one's going to give a damn about anymore, and sex—surrender, he thinks bitterly—is the only option he has left.

"You can have me however you want," he promises, his fingers untangling from the folds of Urahara's haori and moving to the front of his shihakusho instead. He's trying to undo it—but his fucking hands are shaking too hard, and his whole body is, too. He can't breathe right, or think straight, and Ichigo feels as if he's drowning under a wave of crushing panic.

"Help me," he says softly, to nobody in particular, only faintly aware of the way Urahara is staring at him with wide, concerned eyes. Ichigo's arms drop to his sides, and he chokes out the words around the swelling lump in his throat. "I don't—I don't…"

He doesn't know what he's doing.

In terms of anything. Sex, and sexuality, none of it is clear-cut like fighting, but tangled, and complex, and it _hurts_, and he's _scared._ He hasn't really been angry today, so much as he's been terrified, because how can he deal with everyone else when he hasn't even come to terms with himself? He can hardly see through the blur of tears, and he stumbles, as his knees finally give out, and nearly falls.

Nearly.

Nearly, but for the hands on his shoulders again, keeping him steady.

Urahara is looking at him. Not with pity, or with lust, like the others, but really… _looking_ at him. Like he can see everything that Ichigo was, is, will be and…accepts it. Those gray eyes are soft, and the hands that hold him are gentle too, like Ichigo is something fragile, and precious, and he's stunned and terrified by it, all at once.

"It's okay," Urahara whispers, and Ichigo trembles in his grip, face streaked with tears and still breathing hard.

"Urahara, _don't_, just—just—" But Ichigo doesn't know what he wants him to do, except for Urahara to stop staring at him so…_lovingly._

Because Ichigo doesn't know what to do with that, or how to feel about it, being treated in such a different way than he has the entire day: like he's to be protected, rather than harassed, treasured rather than used, and the weight of that kind of love scares him almost as much as it makes him feel…safe.

"It's okay, Ichigo," Urahara says again, and the sound of his given name sends an electrifying shiver through him; and then Urahara is leaning in, and Ichigo does the same, closing the distance, their lips touching in a gentle kiss.

It's not like before: slow, and simple, and so tender that Ichigo finds himself crying all the harder for it, even as his heart races in exhilaration. It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like time has come to a standstill, and when they separate, it's only so that Urahara can fold his arms around Ichigo entirely, pulling him against his chest in a warm embrace, one hand stroking Ichigo's hair soothingly.

"It's okay, Ichigo," Urahara says, "I've got you."

"Urahara," he begins softly.

"Kisuke," is the quiet, insistent correction. "Please."

Ichigo smiles shyly to himself and nods, pressing his face into Urahara's shoulder, holding tighter.

"Kisuke," he repeats, and it feels good to say—like it's a promise; that he doesn't have to worry about always running, always moving, always fighting. He doesn't have to be scared to get close. In that moment, in Urahara's—Kisuke's, Ichigo corrects himself with quiet elation—arms, the hurt and the humiliation of the entire day, of the last few years, melts away. And for the first time, in a very long time, Ichigo is at peace.

For awhile, Ichigo is content to simply be held, as Urahara presses lingering kisses to his forehead, his ears, his neck, the two of them savoring the warmth of the moment. Eventually, however, they're forced back into reality—with the assistance of a well-timed explosion, accompanied by a loud and persistent banging coming from just outside the room. Urahara and Ichigo stare bemusedly at one another, and then at the door, still blocked off.

"I know he's in there!" Rangiku snaps faintly from the other side, though she sounds somewhat distracted; there's the intermittent clanging of swords between her words, as if she's fighting off several people at once, even while making her demands. "Move aside!"

"I will not," Tessai replies firmly, nearly drowned out by a series of violent curses from Grimmjow, followed by multiple explosions that have the walls of the Shoten shuddering in warning.

"Whatever's going on in there is none of your business, anyway," Yoruichi adds waspishly, and receives a loud chorus of overlapping threats from the assembled crowd for her efforts.

Urahara and Ichigo look back at one another.

"Those assholes," Ichigo mutters irritably. Urahara nods in agreement, but he's smiling and then, slowly and much to Ichigo's annoyed surprise, begins to break down into incredulous laughter.

"What? What is it?"

Urahara shakes his head and kisses at Ichigo's furrowed brow until he stops frowning.

"Just…this could _only_ happen to us," he says, and then laughs harder.

"It's not funny," Ichigo retorts stubbornly, but Urahara's laughter is infectious, and the more he thinks about it the more he realizes how, in spite of all he's been put through today, it really is, ultimately, unbelievably ridiculous. He starts to laugh as well, out of a sense of relief and disbelief, their combined hysteria growing until they're both clinging to one another, struggling to remain upright.

"Welcome to my life," Ichigo jokes, and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shihakusho. Urahara gives one last chuckle, and then takes Ichigo's hand, beaming.

"What do you say we get out of here?" he suggests. Ichigo grins, nervous, but in the best way possible. He's not sure what this is going to be like—his first real relationship, that is. Probably complicated. Probably scary. He's still not entirely settled with the issue of his virginity, of his sexuality, but as he holds tight to Urahara's hand, somehow he knows that he can deal with it. He's not alone, anymore.

And hell, Ichigo thinks to himself and can't help but grin, after everything else that's happened to him, and with Urahara at his side, there's nothing he can't handle.

"Lead the way," Ichigo says.

The door to the room finally blows open in the wake of Kurotsuchi's bankai, the mountain of furniture scattering everywhere as the crazed horde of shinigami and Arrancar alike spill inside: Rangiku leading the charge and fighting off Yoruichi and Tessai, both of them attempting to tackle her; Ulquiorra and Grimmjow simultaneously strangling one another; Zaraki with his sword raised high; Ukitake still uselessly trying to hold them all at bay.

But Urahara and Ichigo are already out the window and running. Ichigo takes only a moment to turn back—to wave a sarcastic goodbye at the group, piling up on top of one another and gaping stupidly after him; to wink at Rukia, Orihime, and Chad, the three of them grinning after Ichigo with delighted surprise.

And then he looking forward, returning Urahara's smile. Knowing, as they take off hand in hand, that no matter what insanity comes their way, everything's going to be all right.

* * *

**To be Continued…**

ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO! Dude, I'm so excited! This'll have been the first multi-chapter fanfic I'll have finished in awhile!

Lol, next chapter will hopefully be up much sooner—_although_…I'll probably have to bump the rating up to M, if you know what I mean. Heh, heh…I'm a perv.

I hope this chapter was all right. I know, it's kind of more serious than the rest of the story so far, but please, let me know if it was okay, cuz I'm feeling a bit uncertain about this one…

Thank you so much for reading, and I can't wait to hear from you!

Cheers, Rebel


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